


In Want of a Hyperdrive

by Tassos



Series: In Want of a Hyperdrive and other stories [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Complete, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Gladiators, Minor Original Character(s), Movie: Star Wars: The Phantom Menace, Slave Obi-Wan Kenobi, Slavery, Tatooine Slave Culture, Wordcount: 50.000-100.000, Young Anakin Skywalker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:46:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 81,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24325984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tassos/pseuds/Tassos
Summary: In an AU where as a boy Obi-Wan never met Qui-Gon Jinn and was instead abducted by slavers, the events of The Phantom Menace take a different turn when Queen Amidala's ship lands on Tatooine in want of a hyperdrive.Qui-Gon and Padmé meet two Force-sensitives, find a way to raise money for the hyperdrive that doesn't involve a podrace, and get caught between the powerful forces of Tatooine's slave-owners and the Dark Side pursuing them.
Series: In Want of a Hyperdrive and other stories [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1807135
Comments: 347
Kudos: 836





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First and foremost huge huge thanks to [thissugarcane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thissugarcane/pseuds/Lise) for beta reading. She did an incredible job and the story is so much better for having her input. Also huge thanks to girl_wonder for encouraging me to keep going when I started this thing and cheerleading along the way.
> 
> This story is complete and I'll post chapters 2-3 times a week.
> 
> This story was inspired by the Tatooine Slave Culture stories and world building by [Fialleril](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fialleril/pseuds/Fialleril), and as such takes place in that universe. Fialleril's works are excellent and highly recommended. I reference symbolism, folklore, attitudes, community, and language from their fic and tumblr posts. I'll put specific credits for the bigger things that show up with each chapter, but the main things to know upfront are depur means master; Ekkreth is the trickster god, the one who makes free, whose name translates to Skywalker in Basic; Ar-Amu is the mother goddess; Elder Sister also called Leia the Mighty is the krayt dragon; in the slave language Amatakka freedom and death are the same word; the name Anakin means bringer of rain, which refers to the story that when the rain comes the slaves will be free.
> 
> Setting: Alternate Universe that takes place in the middle of The Phantom Menace on Tatooine. The canon-divergence happens when Obi-Wan is a child, so Qui-Gon Jinn was sent to Naboo to deal with the Trade Federation on his own since he doesn't have a padawan.

The sandstorm picked up faster than Qui-Gon expected. 

The wind was sharp with sand cutting into their exposed skin as it tried to knock them over. Already, he could barely see his hand in front of his face. If it weren't for the Force and the boy's presence like a beacon leading them through back streets ahead of them, Qui-Gon was quite sure they'd be in trouble.

The boy, Anakin, had hold of Padmé's hand while Qui-Gon brought up the rear of their little group. He led them with confidence as they staggered against the winds, covering their mouths against the air that had turned brown and dark.

Anakin was a surprise. Qui-Gon hadn't paid him any mind at the junk-dealer's. It wasn't until he'd snuck up after them with a pallie fruit for Padmé that his presence had broken through his rudimentary shielding, when she accepted the gift with a smile. Anakin's face had broken into delight as bright as his sudden presence in the Force, and as suddenly, he had Qui-Gon's full attention.

Tow-haired, dressed in a light-colored tunic of durable if worn fabric, he couldn't have been older than ten years-old. Gently reaching out, Qui-Gon sensed his strength. But no sooner had he brushed his mind against Anakin's than the boy's presence had blinked out, smothered back to a level common for any sentient, and the boy's eyes had snapped to Qui-Gon's. For a half second, Qui-Gon thought he might run, so Qui-Gon had smiled at him, gently exhaling calm and a sense of safety and reassurance. Anakin had tentatively nodded back before his attention was brought back to the old woman who sniffed the air.

"Better get under cover, Ani. These old bones feel a storm's a coming," she'd said.

"A storm?" Padmé had glanced at the wide-open sky, then at Qui-Gon, who reached out in the Force and felt not a disturbance, but a general strength swirling.

"We'd best head back to the ship," he'd said.

"Where is it?" Anakin had asked, his eyes darting nervously from Qui-Gon to Padmé, his concern for the girl clear, even through his shielding, which had more structure in the Force than it first seemed. He'd been taught, Qui-Gon knew with a sudden flash of insight.

Padmé explained they'd landed on the outskirts, and Anakin had cried, "You'll never make it!"

Qui-Gon was quite certain that were it not for the presence of the handmaiden and Anakin's unmistakable crush, they would not now be heading for shelter at the boy's home in the slave quarters.

They arrived none too soon. As they crossed the last few meters, a gust of wind tore at them strongly enough to set Qui-Gon back a step. He steadied Padmé and the droid in front of him, while up ahead Anakin huddled against the building to keep his balance.

As soon as the door closed behind them, the noise of the wind cut off. Qui-Gon shook sand out of his poncho as he took in the small home. The entryway opened onto a small kitchen with a dining table in the center. Off to the side of the door was a small alcove strewn with mechanical parts and small electronics, in various states of repair. An open doorway led to rooms in back, but that was as far as Qui-Gon could see.

For in that doorway was a young man in a similar light-colored tunic and desert wrappings to Anakin's, with his arms folded across his chest. The expression on his face was not exactly welcoming.

"I see you've brought home guests, Ani," said the young man. His eyes were sharp with distrust as they traveled from the droid to Padmé to Qui-Gon, where they lingered. Assessing him as a potential threat, Qui-Gon surmised. He'd borne many such suspicious looks in his time. He pushed out calm and reason, feeling the Force swirling around the young man. A gentle prod was met by a mental side-step that suggested he look elsewhere followed by an abrupt departure from the Force entirely. 

Qui-Gon blinked, surprised at the rather clumsy suggestion that nonetheless probably worked on anyone who wasn't a Force-user.

"I met them at Watto's," Anakin said, heading over to the young man. "They didn't have anywhere else to go to shelter from the storm."

"Because naturally, they couldn't take shelter at a cantina," the man said, as dry as the desert outside. But his eyes did flicker to Padmé before coming back to Qui-Gon, who took the opening to introduce themselves.

"I'm sorry to intrude. My name is Qui-Gon Jinn and this is Padmé. Our ship was too far, and Anakin was most kind in offering us shelter."

The young man stepped out from the doorway, his arms unfolding to accept Anakin's full body hug as the boy tilted his head back and said, "Can they pleeeease stay, Obi-Wan?"

Qui-Gon watched the silent communication pass between the two, paying attention to the Force that had noticeably calmed as soon as Anakin had stepped into Obi-Wan's space. The young man's shields weren't much more sophisticated than Anakin's, but they didn't drop as soon as calm returned like the boy's did. Qui-Gon got the sense that he was strong in the Force, and, while not as strong as Anakin's bright presence, more disciplined.

"All right," Obi-Wan said at last. He eyed them for another long moment, then said, "Let our home be your shelter for the night."

Qui-Gon bowed his head in acknowledgement of the clearly ritual words. Many worlds had them, though he hadn't been expecting to find them on Tatooine in Hutt space. "Thank you. We are grateful and bring no evil or harm into your home." They were words from Ryloth, but they seemed to fill the required response.

Anakin immediately bounded away from Obi-Wan with a cry of joy and grabbed Padmé's hand. "You want to see the droid I built?" He was pulling her past Obi-Wan to the rooms beyond before Padmé, laughing, could reply. R2-D2 trundled after them with a series of beeps that gave the sense that he didn't want to miss out on meeting a fellow droid.

That left Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan alone, studying each other. Into the tense silence, Qui-Gon said, "Thank you," with all sincerity. Obi-Wan kept still, a sense of a cornered animal about him that broke when he let out a long slow breath. He nodded once.

"Offworlders?" he asked, moving toward the kitchen. 

"Yes. Our ship was damaged and we can't leave until we make repairs to the hyperdrive. Can I help?" he asked when Obi-Wan began pulling out things to prepare a meal. 

Obi-Wan gave him another sharp look, but nodded. "Ani was supposed to pick up pallie fruits. I don't suppose he remembered in all the excitement? He dropped his bag by the door." 

Qui-Gon smiled and went to fetch the bag that Anakin had carelessly thrown to the side when they'd arrived. He fetched out the sack of fruit. "He offered us some earlier. I think he wanted an excuse to talk to Padmé," he said with a wink as he passed them to Obi-Wan. 

It had the desired effect. The young man relaxed another inch and as he accepted the fruit, he half-rolled his eyes. He even had the hint of a smile peeking out. The whole effect dropped years from the tanned creases on his face, and Qui-Gon wondered how old he really was.

"Of course he did," Obi-Wan said, that dry delivery back, along with wariness held in a sideways glance. "Is she your . . ."

"Traveling companion and nothing more," Qui-Gon said easily, answering the question Obi-Wan was really asking. He was unsurprised, and it didn't bother him, but it made him sad nonetheless that Obi-Wan felt it necessary to ask. At Qui-Gon's response, however, he relaxed a fraction more, and for a few minutes, they worked in silence. Qui-Gon sliced the fruit and Obi-Wan soaked grain in a blue, viscous liquid to make a thin porridge before setting it over a heating filament to cook.

Qui-Gon took the time to study his host. Up close it was easier to see the marks of his life. His hair was cut short, sticking up every which-way. He had a thin, jagged scar at his throat. Not from a knife, Qui-Gon thought, but perhaps from a collar of some sort. When he pushed his sleeves up and out of the way, Qui-Gon caught a glimpse of scar tissue along one forearm, newer pink skin raised over older white marks. Some of those did look like the mark of a blade, but others were definitely not.

Before Qui-Gon could think further on it, he felt the Force shift beside him with another clumsy suggestion to look away pulsing toward him, before Obi-Wan's presence retreated once more. 

Beside him Obi-Wan abruptly went still, and despite his shields, Qui-Gon sensed his disquiet. Like his mental suggestion had been made unthinkingly, and he'd only realized he'd done it afterwards, unused to guarding against another Force-user. He was very pointedly not looking at Qui-Gon, and every wall he had was back in place.

"I meant what I said earlier," Qui-Gon said as gently as he knew how. He continued slicing the pallies as if he hadn't noticed anything and let calm flow from him. "I mean you and your son no harm."

"You're a Jedi," Obi-Wan said in return, his Outer Rim accent fading for a moment with the words that dropped between them with all the weight of the forbidden. Jedi weren't often welcome on the Outer Rim. This time when Obi-Wan turned to face him, he looked Qui-Gon in the eye with a piercing gaze that was as much defiance as anything else.

Qui-Gon set his knife down and turned to face him. "Yes."

Not a muscle moved on Obi-Wan's face, but in the Force a dozen emotions flared forth from behind his shields at the confirmation, a burst of jumbled, conflicted feelings that were just as quickly reigned in. Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow that made Obi-Wan's nostrils flare.

"You're strong in the Force," Qui-Gon said, softly. "And you've had some training, but I'm guessing that was a long time ago."

Obi-Wan hesitated but then nodded. And then, to Qui-Gon's surprise, he closed his eyes and dropped his shields entirely. A tentative tendril reached toward him. Qui-Gon kept his center still and calm and patient. He opened the outer levels of his mind with warmth and trust and let this wary, young man lead. He felt the lightest touch of Obi-Wan's mind against his, skittish as a bird at first, then braver. They had no bond to communicate across, but in the Living Force there was no need of that for this meeting of minds. 

Obi-Wan's presence was a choppy sea, light waters marbled through with dark streaks that Qui-Gon would meditate on later. Through it all was a wide streak of caution, tethered fear, and faint sparks of hope that were quenched as soon as they appeared. Qui-Gon sent out a tendril of soothing calm, serenity and certainty, laced with pride for reaching out. 

A sharp inhale broke their connection. Obi-Wan startled back at his mental touch, shields slamming up in reflex. He took several steps back from Qui-Gon, bumping against the far wall in the small kitchen and blinking tears from his eyes. Qui-Gon had the urge to go to him, place a hand on his shoulder, tell him he was all right, that he was brave and safe and that everything would be all right. But Obi-Wan was wary again, and a clatter from the other rooms proceeded Anakin running in.

"Obi-Wan?" He stopped by the table, worried eyes darting between the two of them but coming no closer—staying out of reach, Qui-Gon realized—until Obi-Wan spoke.

"I'm all right, Ani," he said, despite the shake in his voice.

"What did you do!?" Anakin's glare was fierce, and his slim control over his feelings slipped, sending a maelstrom of fear, concern, and righteous fury through the Force toward Qui-Gon. As quickly, Obi-Wan extended his shields around Anakin, calming his presence with clear practice. They were quite the pair. 

Qui-Gon squatted on his heels so he wasn't looming over the boy. "We were just talking. I startled your father, that's all."

"I'm all right," Obi-Wan said again, pulling his composure back around himself. He took a breath. "He just surprised me. He's . . ." Obi-Wan gave Qui-Gon a long look that sparked with fragile hope. "He didn't hurt me. He won't hurt us."

Anakin's frown was not so quick to disappear. "He's like us," he said.

"I know," Obi-Wan said, glancing back at Qui-Gon. "But he's not like the others."

"Others?" Padmé asked before Qui-Gon could. She'd followed Anakin into the kitchen and now stood tense right behind him.

"Not all who use the Force are friendly," Qui-Gon replied to Padmé, seeing the truth of it when he looked at Obi-Wan. Turning to Anakin, he added," You are right to be wary. But I swear to you, I have no intention of hurting you. Either of you."

Anakin remained unconvinced until he turned to Obi-Wan, who returned his serious expression with a solemn one of his own. They had a bond, Qui-Gon was sure of it now. It was unsurprising, really, given their relationship, and he thought again of the dark streaks he'd seen in Obi-Wan's mind. 

"It's all right," Obi-Wan said again, hesitating over his next words with a quick flick of his eyes toward Qui-Gon. "He's a Jedi."

Like a switch flipped, Anakin's whole body lit up. "A Jedi! I have dreams about being a Jedi!" 

Qui-Gon didn't miss how Obi-Wan's face went carefully blank, and when Anakin went on, he understood why. 

"Are you here to free us? In my dreams I'm a Jedi and I come back and free all the slaves."

"Ani," Obi-Wan said softly.

"No. I'm afraid not," Qui-Gon said. Best to tell the truth quickly to lessen the sting. "We are as we said, travelers stranded with a ship in need of a hyperdrive repair. We're on a very important mission, and we need to leave as soon as possible."

Anakin turned to Padmé, who nodded. "It's true. My planet has been attacked," she said. "Master Jinn is helping us get to Coruscant so we can ask the Republic for aid."

"Master!" Anakin sent another panicked surge into the Force, echoed by that muted tangle of feelings from Obi-Wan, there and gone before Anakin's feelings were masked once more behind Obi-Wan's shields. The boy had torn right through them, and Qui-Gon realized he was far stronger than he'd first thought.

But he set aside that thought as quickly as it came in order to soothe Anakin's alarm. "It's my rank, not my role," he said, sending out calm once more. "It signifies my mastery of the Force. Jedi do not own slaves."

"Ani, set the table, please," Obi-Wan broke in. That was enough to break the tension that had creeped in once more. 

Willing to let it go, Anakin did as he was told, and with some shuffling and rearranging Obi-Wan found a stool and another chair for the table. Soon he was spooning porridge into bowls and topping them with the pallie fruit. He served Anakin first, then Padmé, giving the younglings the bigger portions. Anakin meanwhile pulled a bottle of the blue liquid from the cooling unit—milk, it turned out—and poured it into earthen mugs for each of them. 

The porridge was plain but the fruit helped, and Qui-Gon ate without complaint, pleased to see that Padmé did as well. 

"So tell me about your ship," Obi-Wan said a little later, once his bowl was empty. He nudged it out of the way to fold his arms on the table in front of him. "What do you need for it?"

"It's a J-type 327 Nubian. It needs a new hyperdrive generator. T-49," Qui-Gon told him. "Watto . . ." He paused to check the name, continuing when Obi-Wan nodded, "Watto says he has one but he won't accept Republic credits for it."

"No one will accept credits out here," Obi-Wan said. "They'll make you a target if you're not careful."

"Will Watto take advantage?"

"Of course he will. He's greedy, not stupid, and it sounds like he's got the upper hand. How much is he asking for the generator?"

Qui-Gon told him the not inconsiderable sum. "He claimed he was the only one who had one that would fit our ship. Is that true?"

Obi-Wan shrugged. "Probably. He gets his hands on most mid-class ship parts eventually. I can ask around tomorrow, if you'd like."

"I'd appreciate it," said Qui-Gon.

"But that doesn't help you actually get it," Anakin said, with a despairing whine in his voice. "Anyone else is going to charge you just as much. More if they know you already talked to Watto."

"He's right," Obi-Wan acknowledged. "You're still going to need hard wupiupi."

Qui-Gon nodded. He'd assumed as much. "Any suggestions on that front?"

"The dealers around here must have some sort of weakness," Padmé said, leaning forward and looking between them for an answer.

"Gambling," Obi-Wan said easily. "Mos Espa's economy revolves around gambling."

"You could enter a podrace!" Anakin exclaimed, bouncing in his seat. "I have a pod. I could pilot it for you! The prize money would be more than enough for what you need."

Obi-Wan snorted. "What you have is a half-built engine and a death-wish."

"It is not! It works!" Anakin protested. "Mostly."

"What's a podrace?" Padmé asked.

"You haven't heard of podracing?" Anakin was shocked as only a young boy talking about a beloved sport could be. Qui-Gon glanced at Obi-Wan in time to see the young man roll his eyes as Anakin launched into an animated description of racing atmo pods through the most dangerous terrain on the planet.

"I've seen a podrace on Malastare," Qui-Gon said when Anakin paused for breath. "Very fast. Very dangerous."

"I'm the only human who can do it," Anakin said proudly. 

"And you let him?" Padmé turned to Obi-Wan, scandalized. Her eyes had gotten wider and wider at each death-defying stunt Anakin described with glee.

Obi-Wan's laugh was bitter. "Doesn't matter what I want. I'm not the one who owns him."

"But you're his father! Surely you have some say. You could—"

"What?" Obi-Wan interrupted her, harshly, the conversation turning sharp and tense in the blink of an eye. Obi-Wan's intense gaze fixed on the indignant girl whose spine only straightened in the face of his rebuttal. "I could say something and have Watto take the skin off my back for not minding my place? Or watch him take it out of Ani's to remind us both? Or become enough of a nuisance that he decides to sell me to someone in Mos Eisley, or off-world?"

The Force spiked unhappily through his shields, and an even larger spike of fear and pain came through from Anakin. For her part, Padmé was taken aback and struggled to keep her calm.

"Would he really?" she whispered, turning her stricken expression toward Anakin, seeing him, perhaps for the first time, as a slave boy with no control of his destiny.

"I love racing," he said in a small voice.

"I know, dear one," Obi-Wan said, his tone softening. "And I thank—I'm thankful every time you race that you're so good at it." 

"And my pod's going to be the fastest one ever," Anakin said, more animated.

"It's still not finished," Obi-Wan pointed out. "And the next race isn't for another thirty days." He turned to Qui-Gon. "I'm guessing you don't want to wait that long, even if we got the pod finished by then."

Qui-Gon shook his head, thoughts going back to Naboo and the droid armies that occupied Theed. He met Padmé's eyes and saw her twisted by the same thought. The Naboo couldn't wait that long. Worse, if they stayed more than a few days, the Queen and her entourage would run out of supplies on the ship. The Queen couldn't risk the dangers of a prolonged stay on Tatooine.

"What will we do?" Padmé asked, worry thick in her voice.

"The Force will provide a way," Qui-Gon said calmly. Though behind his calm, his own worry was beginning to make a nest.  
Beside him, Obi-Wan snorted in disbelief. 

"You don't think so?" Qui-Gon couldn't help but prod, curious at what he would say.

But before he could, Anakin spoke up, "There's pit fights open this week."

Qui-Gon could guess what those were, but he was more intrigued by the way that Obi-Wan froze and glared at his son.

"No." The word was clipped and short.

"Qui-Gon could enter," Anakin persisted. "He's a Jedi. He'd be sure to win."

"What are pit fights?" Padmé asked, but this time Obi-Wan ignored her.

"He's an offworlder. They'd put him against a rancor or something else impossible, and Jedi or not, he wouldn't have a chance."

"You beat a rancor." Anakin stuck his lip out mulishly and glared. Obi-Wan returned his stare with one of his own, solid and implacable until Anakin's eyes dropped. "The odds would be better for scoring big," the boy murmured the last defiant word.

Looking back and forth between them, Qui-Gon waited till Obi-Wan's piercing attention flickered. There was a story there, but now was not the time. He raised a finger to capture their attention. "Is there no one friendly to the Republic we can turn to?"

Dragging his eyes from Anakin, Obi-Wan sat back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face and through his hair. "No. Not out here," he said, one arm wrapped around himself, his other hand pressed against his chin.

"And no options you can think of for raising funds that wouldn't involve risking our lives?" Qui-Gon asked to be sure. That was the sense he was getting which was . . . less than optimal. 

Obi-Wan's eyes flickered to Padmé for a second, and with perfect clarity Qui-Gon knew what he was thinking. But Obi-Wan simply said, "No," and didn't even suggest it.

Qui-Gon nodded, then. "In that case I suggest we continue this conversation tomorrow, when our thoughts are fresh." He needed time to meditate. It had been a long and frustrating day, but Qui-Gon had no doubt that the Force would open a path. It had led him here, after all, to two Force-sensitives in the midst of all the beings on Tatooine. If nothing else, it was telling him to help them.

Everyone helped clean up, and afterward Anakin dragged Padmé and R2-D2 off to his room once more. The sandstorm had passed so Qui-Gon excused himself to the back balcony to make contact with Captain Panaka on the ship. It was an unsatisfactory conversation on both ends. Messages were coming from Naboo of people dying. 

"Don't answer them. They'll only trace our position, and we're sitting targets here until the hyperdrive is repaired."

"And how is that going?" Panaka asked.

"I'm working on it." Qui-Gon sighed.

He returned inside and paused when he heard Anakin and Padmé's voices. "There has to be some way we can help," Anakin was saying.

"You've already helped," Padmé replied, her own tone and Anakin's huff acknowledging that wasn't what he meant. 

Qui-Gon didn't linger. Back in the kitchen, Obi-Wan was cleaning the dishes with sand in a basin. The part of the room that wasn't occupied by the table made a small living space that had a bench built into the back wall. Despite the cramped space and the bins of electronic parts and piles of sorted material in various states of assembly, the space was homey. Instead of paintings, the walls had been directly painted on with crusty homemade pigments in several geometric designs. Three interlocking circles inside a dashed one were in the center, with various others spaced around it artfully. One corner down low was covered in a child's attempt to copy the larger designs. Anakin's work, no doubt, Qui-Gon smiled. It seemed the boy was quite fond of the circles.

More striking, however, were the three tiny sculptures that occupied the single shelf bolted to the wall above the paintings in a place of honor. He stepped over to take a closer look. Made of metal and glass, they were tiny figurines of a green flower, a red and black bird, and one that looked like a tiny mesa with clear glass beads dripping into a pool of blue glass water.

He heard Obi-Wan finish in the kitchen and shuffle near the table. Qui-Gon turned and smiled. Obi-Wan had his arms crossed defensively across his chest.

"These are beautiful," Qui-Gon said, gesturing at the figurines. Obi-Wan nodded, his shields locked down tight once more, and before the silence became awkward, Qui-Gon asked, "I would like to meditate. Would it be all right to do that here?"

Nodding again, Obi-Wan said, "Of course. Let me just . . ." He came over and cleared some of the parts and bins from the bench and floor to make more room. "I know it's not much," he said, his expression at once abashed and challenging Qui-Gon to find fault with the little they had to offer. 

"Thank you. It's just fine," Qui-Gon said, taking the offered seat. Obi-Wan stood awkwardly for a moment before going back to the kitchen. Qui-Gon watched him open the cooling unit, then the cupboards. He didn't take anything out, and it was only when he retreated to the alcove, his legs sticking out, that Qui-Gon realized he'd been taking a tally. Obi-Wan had offered their hospitality, but two slaves with two more mouths to feed would quickly take its toll on their supplies if it hadn't already. Qui-Gon didn't know how they were provisioned, but he doubted Watto would be any help.

That was a worry for tomorrow, Qui-Gon decided. He settled himself more comfortably on the bench, folding his legs beneath him and closing his eyes. Now, it was time to meditate and see what the Force had to offer. With long, deep breaths, he let himself sink into its comforting embrace.

He set aside thoughts of the Trade Federation and their strange motivations, the droid invasion of Naboo. He set aside his worry for the Queen, for those on the ship, and the urgency of their mission to Coruscant. Those were concerns he could not affect at the moment. He breathed through his worry for the hyperdrive and how to find the funds to repair it, and instead found his thoughts turning toward the extraordinary pair they'd found here.  
It was no accident, Qui-Gon was sure. As he settled deeper into the Force, he felt the pulse of the two muted but still bright presences nearby. Anakin's excitement as his discussion with Padmé turned to other topics had him slipping free of Obi-Wan's mental protection.

Anakin was not accustomed to shielding his own mind, which was something that ought to be rectified. Obi-Wan couldn't continue to be his shield. It was the difference between someone who had learned young how to protect his mind with strict guidance until it was second nature, and one who had reminders but not enough enforcement. 

He wondered who Obi-Wan's teacher had been, but set that thought aside for later as well. Obi-Wan had no doubt tried his best to teach the boy, but he couldn't imagine it was easy on a planet like this, and with his own training interrupted, he could do with instruction as well.

Was that something Qui-Gon should take on? His mission was urgent, and he hoped to only spend another day or two on this planet before continuing on to Coruscant. It would make most sense to inform the Council and let them decide whether to send an emissary or not.

But there was something about the boy. If obtaining the hyperdrive took more than a day, then the least Qui-Gon could do was ensure that they'd be safe from other Force-users. Breathing in, he felt the thought settle within the Living Force around him. Breathing out, he let go his concerns, one by one. A little education was never a bad thing.

A clatter sounded nearby, but Qui-Gon ignored it. He was one with the Force, a mote of water in a stream. Air huffed over his skin, a subtle shift in the current ruffling a leaf on the surface. Light. Marbled, worried, swirling hope and fear—enough fear to have Qui-Gon turn his head slightly and open his eyes directly on Obi-Wan in the alcove. Obi-Wan immediately looked down at the piece of machinery he was fiddling with and snapped his feelings behind those shields again. He'd been reaching out, a skill he'd never learned to do without opening himself up to others at the same time. 

Another thing he and Anakin both should learn.

Now he was ignoring Qui-Gon so hard, another of his look-away suggestions, gently pushing outward, was practically an invitation. "Would you care to join me?" Qui-Gon asked.

For a moment he didn't think Obi-Wan was going to acknowledge him at all. Then he said, "I don't remember how," without looking up, hands fidgeting. Qui-Gon's heart ached at the words before he gently put the feeling aside. It would do neither of them any good.

"Come then. I'll show you," he said gently, extending a mental invitation as well. 

Obi-Wan was thinking about it, but still not looking at Qui-Gon, so Qui-Gon closed his eyes and resumed his meditation. Either Obi-Wan would join him or he would not.

It took a few minutes and a few false starts, until at last Obi-Wan stood. But then he went to check on Anakin and Padmé. When he came back, however, he finally joined Qui-Gon on the bench. 

Without opening his eyes, Qui-Gon said, "Make yourself comfortable and close your eyes." Then slowly, calmly, he talked through how to breathe until he sensed Obi-Wan's wariness settle and his focus finally turn inward. 

"Now focus on your emotions. Pick one feeling that's making itself known above all the others. And don't forget to breathe." When he thought Obi-Wan had one, he continued. "Examine it. Feel it. Think about what it means, where it comes from. What brought it to mind." 

He sensed Obi-Wan struggling. His shields had dropped as his concentration shifted, and among his surface thoughts, the dark swirling fear was paramount. 

"Focus on the here and now," Qui-Gon suggested, extending his own calm to soothe that fear. "Feel the Living Force with you now. Leave the past in the past and tomorrow for tomorrow. You are here now. In this moment."

Time passed. How much didn't matter. Obi-Wan didn't manage to let go of his fear, but eventually he was able to set it aside and find a space for himself in the moment. A bit of rest, if not true peace. Qui-Gon found in himself a deeply satisfied center when he felt the Force finally shift minutely around Obi-Wan into a new course. 

A moment, a minute, an hour later, a loud Binary blatt from the astromech startled Obi-Wan out of his mediation. Qui-Gon let himself rise from his more naturally, as droid chatter and laughter echoed from the back room. Aside from the adrenaline spike from being startled, Obi-Wan's emotions felt quieter, less turbulent than they had before. He quickly shielded himself again, and when Qui-Gon finally opened his eyes, he found Obi-Wan's gaze on him, slightly wide, slightly startled.

"Better?" he asked, with a bit of a smile.

Collecting himself, Obi-Wan let out a long shuddering breath, his lips curving up at the corners. He nodded, then turned shy again and he dropped his eyes once more—a habit when he was uncomfortable, perhaps. He gathered his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them and just breathed until another spate of droid chatter and giggles came from the back room. That seemed to do the trick of fully binding Obi-Wan to the here and now.

That hint of smile turned dry and exasperated. "I'd better go check on them," he said.

Qui-Gon nodded. "It's getting late."

Obi-Wan got to his feet with all the grace of youth, and Qui-Gon wryly acknowledged that he missed young joints as he got to his own.

At the doorway, Obi-Wan turned back. "Thank you," he said.

"It was my pleasure. I'll be meditating again in the morning. You're welcome to join me. You and Ani both."

That got a smile out of Obi-Wan. "Good luck getting him to sit still," he said, but fondly. "But I . . . I'd like to. If it's all right."

"More than all right," Qui-Gon assured him. Trust, he thought. Tentative, but there. It was a good step, even if Qui-Gon didn't yet know where it led.

"You and Padmé can take my room for the night," Obi-Wan said next. "I'll share with Ani." Then he turned to duck into the boy's room to tell him it was bedtime.

Qui-Gon smiled to himself. Trust, but not too much yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The three interlocking circles inside a dashed one are a symbol of Ekkreth. The interlocking circles represent Tatooine's three moons, and the dashed circle is a broken chain, Unfettered. [Source](https://fialleril.tumblr.com/post/137303101451/leia-could-wear-the-symbol-of-unfettered)
> 
> A red bird with black wings is a form that Ekkreth takes. [Source](https://fialleril.tumblr.com/post/176932626116/tavekriti)


	2. Chapter 2

"But what if he has to say that because it's a secret? What if there's more Jedi on the way to rescue them and they free us too because we helped? Then there'd be a whole army of Jedi, and no one could beat an army of Jedi!"

Obi-Wan let Ani's chatter in Amatakka, the language of the slave quarter, wash over him as they navigated their way toward town just after first sunrise. They'd pointed the Jedi and Padmé back in the direction of their ship. They needed to report in or something. The Jedi had been vague and Obi-Wan knew better than to ask.

True to his word, the Jedi had been up in the dark before first sunrise to meditate. Obi-Wan had heard him moving around and debated whether or not to join him after all, but in the end he had. They'd gone out to the back balcony, and in the open air it was easier for Obi-Wan to still his thoughts for a few moments, as the first sun crested the horizon.  
As the sun rose, he'd felt Tatooine wake up. He'd breathed as one with the desert, and for a few fleeting minutes felt its power and potential, a story come to life—

But then a noise from the quarter had startled him, and he'd lost the feeling. Then it was time to wake Ani and get on with the day, and he had to leave it behind.

Part of him was unsettled by the experience. Part of him felt like something had slotted into place that had been missing for years and then disappeared again, tearing an old wound fresh and leaving him yearning and angry both. Mostly Obi-Wan didn't know how to feel about it. The Jedi's calm serenity hadn't helped calm the churning of something in his chest he couldn't name.

And yes, Obi-Wan recognized the irony that meditation was supposed to be about identifying and straightening out those tangled feelings. Memories from his childhood, and even Qui-Gon talking him through the process, made meditation seem so easy. 

He sighed, while Ani ran ahead to greet Grandmother and Aishass who were feeding dappa milk balls to the children too young to work. They were gathered around the women, bright with joy at the new day. 

Freeing his mind would do nothing to free his body, Obi-Wan thought, watching them. Maybe meditation wasn't up for slavery's contradictions.

"Ar-Amu's blessing, Obi-Wan," Aishass said when he joined them.

"Blessings for us all," he replied crouching at Grandmother's side. The old twi'lek woman turned her head toward him and reached out, her eyesight poor, and Obi-Wan took her hand and kissed it. He pressed the last of their pallies into her hands. "I'm sorry it's not more."

"You always say that, and it's always enough," Grandmother told him, patting his head. 

"We hear you had guests overnight," Aishass said. Her hands were busy kneading another ball of dough together in the bowl in her lap, blue from the bantha milk, speckled from the dappa seeds.

"Offworlders!" Ani turned from the rolling ball game he'd started playing with the other children. "Padmé looks just like an angel the spacers talk about."

Obi-Wan grinned and shared a look with Aishass. "An angel, is it?" he asked Ani lightly.

"She's beautiful!" Ani proclaimed.

"Does she have wings like in the stories?" little Peel asked with wide eyes, ready to believe anything Ani said. Ani, of course, was ready to hold forth with his superior knowledge of angels, those with wings and otherwise, whose eyes glittered like stars and whose kindness shone like moonlight.

Obi-Wan listened for half a minute as Ani described what a real angel looked like and told them about Padmé's ship. He noted Anakin left out any mention of the Jedi being a Jedi, as they'd agreed, and Obi-Wan relaxed his guard a little. Better to keep that to themselves for now. It wasn't that he didn't trust Ani not to know when to share or not, but he sometimes got excited and forgot—and a Jedi was pretty exciting. But not as exciting as a beautiful and charming girl, thankfully.

"They might be back," Obi-Wan told Aishass and Grandmother as Ani held the children's attention. He accepted the dappa milk ball Aishass handed him and said, "They don't mean us harm, and I don't think they'll cause it."

"You've always had a good head for people, Obi-Wan Akuhanna," Grandmother said, her words reassuring as she named him in the way of their people—Luckmaker.

Obi-Wan nodded and ate his milk ball. It was sour and spicy and cleared his head more surely than the meditation. 

He was lucky, as slaves called luck, and his instincts about people were so rarely wrong, his judgment was sought even by the elders. On one level he knew it was the Force— _Place your trust in the Force, you must_ , a memory often whispered—but Obi-Wan preferred to think of it in the Tatooine way, for the Force was his old religion and had led him into slavery. On Tatooine slavery simply was, and the luck of his new religion would help guide his people to freedom.

"They need help. Ani wants to help them," he said after a minute, glancing toward the children. He turned over his next words carefully. Turned over the tangled feelings that went with them. "I think I want to help them, too."

"Hmm." Grandmother grasped for his hand again. Her dry wrinkled skin hid the strength in her grip. "You boys have both always had good hearts, too," she said.

"They say Ekkreth comes with the sandstorm," Aishass said with a terse smile shaded by worry. 

Obi-Wan nodded. "I remember." In an old story, the trickster shrouded himself in a sandstorm when he came to free the slaves. In more than one story, actually. There were as many stories of the Skywalker as there were slaves on Tatooine. The rather difficult trick, Obi-Wan thought, was figuring out when you were in one. 

He wasn't sure yet, but . . . but Ani had brought home a Jedi.

"Mind your tracks, Obi-Wan."

"I will, Grandmother." He dropped a kiss on her forehead as he stood. "Ani, time to go." He glanced at the sky as Ani made his goodbyes. It was later than he'd like, but Watto was usually lenient in the morning until the cantina-heads roused themselves.

Four hours later, wiping sweat off his forehead from the top of the sand barge he was stripping down to scrap, Obi-Wan had had more than enough time to convince himself he was a fool. The Jedi had said he wasn't here to free anybody. His interest in Obi-Wan and Anakin was because they were alike, but there was no guarantee his kindness would lead anywhere. 

Jedi were supposed to be kind. Compassionate. Obi-Wan blinked up at the sky for a minute, the endless sky that capped his universe. That was the one teaching that had stuck. 

He didn't remember the Jedi Code or how to meditate or separate his feelings from himself and let the Force fill the spaces inside, but some days Obi-Wan felt like his enslavement had been one long lesson in how to be compassionate without getting anyone killed. He thought maybe the Jedi might be walking that same tight rope with Padmé's people. If so, then he had little reason to stay and help on Tatooine once their ship was fixed. Provided their ship got fixed. 

If it didn't, if the Jedi had to stay and find other passage . . . Obi-Wan tried to ignore the little nugget of hope that lodged in his stomach with the possibilities that opened up.

He shook out his scarf and rewrapped it around his head. Squatting, he braced his hands on the hot metal of the barge's deck and lightly jumped the four meters to the ground. He grabbed the hauler he'd brought out with him and set one of the snub droids to help him collect the wiring he'd ripped from the hull, and then headed back to the workshop.

It was thirty degrees cooler inside out of the sunlight, and dark. "Ani?" Obi-Wan called out as his eyes adjusted.

"Over here!" Ani's reply was drowned out by a clatter of metal and a fainter, "Oops."

Obi-Wan paused long enough to hear if cursing followed—none did, so it was nothing Ani couldn't handle or anything Watto would likely care about. Sure enough, after a few minutes of picking up, Ani came into sight with his soldering goggles pushed up on his forehead.

"I had a great idea!" he said. "Okay, a good idea," he amended at Obi-Wan's raised eyebrow. "It's an idea." He spoke in Amatakka, as they often did in the workshop. 

Obi-Wan's attention flickered to the room around them out of habit, but it was just the two of them. Watto was either minding the shop or out front chatting with whoever was looking to talk. Not much to do besides talk during the heat of the day for the businessmen of Mos Espa.

"What's this idea then?" Obi-Wan went over to the amphora in the corner and lifted the lid. Quarter-filled today. He wondered if it was the vaporator acting up or if Watto was annoyed. He dipped a half-cup to drink now, while Ani jumped onto a nearby bench and balanced on one foot for no discernible reason at all.

"We move the generator to the edge of the yard and leave the gate unlocked before we leave for the night." Ani jumped off the bench.

Obi-Wan waited in case there was more, but there didn't seem to be. Ani bounced from one foot to the other looking at him expectantly, but not so energetic that he really hoped the plan would work. Ani was smart enough to see the holes, but young enough he needed Obi-Wan to point them out. 

"Watto does the locks," Obi-Wan said. "He'd know it was us. He'd also know we were the ones who moved the generator. And even if he missed those two facts and didn't notice the generator gone—which he will, with a potential buyer on the hook—he'd definitely realize when their ship took off."

"What if it didn't look like us? If Mister Qui-Gon did all the work?"

"What difference would that make to Watto?" 

Ani twisted and jumped back to his other foot, knowing as well as Obi-Wan that Watto would be after blood and theirs was easiest. "Then we should go with them. Maybe Mister Qui-Gon could find our transponders."

"That's a big maybe," Obi-Wan said. 

"I could try to build another scanner," Anakin said, more softly.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes against the memory of Watto throwing Ani's first and last attempt against the wall, followed by Ani. He'd been seven, and Obi-Wan's heart had stopped when he saw him lying there like a broken doll, unmoving.

He took a deep breath and held for the meditation count, then slowly let it out. He studied Ani's frown, wishing he had something, anything, to offer the spark of hope hidden there. But he didn't. "Are your feet all right?"

"Yeah." Ani put both of them back on the floor. "Just some stuff fell on them."

Sighing, because of course, Obi-Wan put away the dipper and snagged Ani's sleeve. "Come on. Help me sort these." He sat Ani down on the floor near the hauler and unloaded while Ani sorted the wire by length, gauge, and quality, coiling them neatly. 

They worked quietly, moving on to other tasks in the workshop when they were done with the sorting. Obi-Wan let his thoughts drift, thinking of nothing in particular except all the ways to make money when you had nothing at all.

* * *

"Is this necessary? We need to head back to the ship." Padmé took a couple of running steps to catch up to Master Jinn's long strides. 

She'd been following him around Mos Espa all morning saying the same thing, and she was well and truly annoyed now at being dismissed every time. The heat didn't help, nor did her thirst. Padmé wasn't sure she'd ever been this parched in her life. She was sure she tasted sand in the back of her throat.

"In good time," Master Jinn said in the same infuriating tone he'd used the last dozen times Padmé had suggested anything. 

"The Queen will not like us to dawdle," Padmé snapped, which was enough to stop Master Jinn in his tracks. She took satisfaction that he had paused before turning back toward her. She hoped he was as annoyed as she was.

"Do you have a supply of local currency on the ship I should know about?" The Jedi tucked his hands under his poncho and raised an eyebrow at her. 

Padmé didn't let his height intimidate her, but she had to shake her head.

"Then we will continue, as this path appears to be our swiftest option." Master Jinn nodded ahead to the large stadium that was their destination. The fighting pits. The money lender Master Jinn had convinced to exchange their credits—at an exorbitant exchange rate—had said that the next round of tournaments began in two days.

"It's barbaric," Padmé repeated her opinion on the matter. They should have headed back to the ship immediately.

"Yes," said Master Jinn. "Nonetheless it is our best hope for raising the additional funds we need."

"Why couldn't you have just made that money lender give us what we need?"

Master Jinn sighed. "I've found that where currency is concerned, it's harder to sway a being's mind. A strong suggestion is still a suggestion. And I didn't want to rob him."

"He robbed you." Padmé gave the Jedi a pointed look. They'd lost more than half their credits' value in the exchange.

"And if he has a partner, or in a few days when the suggestion is a vague memory, we would be very memorable thieves. Come." Master Jinn, of course, had to get the last word in. Padmé sighed and hurried to catch up.

They spent more than an hour at the arena waiting for their turn to register. Padmé found a bit of shade to sit under with R2-D2 while Master Jinn stood in line. Tatooine was like no planet Padmé had been on before. The desert and the heat were one thing, but the lawlessness was something else altogether. More than one pair of fighters had started a brawl over cutting in line, and more than one of those fights had ended with one of the combatants injured, and—in the most recent altercation—murdered right there in front of everyone. 

Padmé startled back when the smaller being screamed and died and no one in the crowd did anything to help, not even Master Jinn. He met her eyes briefly from near the front of the line and shook his head. 

Padmé hadn't even realized she'd left her shelter, but one look at the disinterested beings around her, the sudden shove of arena guards to clear out the body, and she slunk back to her bit of shade. 

She was far, far from the palace in Theed and the stately neighborhood she had grown up in. 

It didn't help that she didn't speak the local language, or that a masked being had stopped nearby with their friend to stare at Padmé. They said something to her, but she ignored them, hoping they''d go away. Both wore blasters at their hips and wicked looking spears with loops at the ends along their backs. 

The one who'd spoken swung their spear into their hand, saying something else that they then repeated in Basic. "Let's see your ident," they said with a menacing step forward. 

Startled, Padmé straightened to her full height, which admittedly was still too short, and gave them her best royal glare. "Why don't you move along, sir?" 

Next to her R2-D2 rolled defensively in front of her with a warning spate of Binary beeps. It did little to deter the two beings, however.

"Don't try to bluff me," the first said, swinging the loop end of their spear toward her. 

Padmé barely dodged in time and then the other one was there with their loop closing in. They had her cornered against the wall, and suddenly Padmé's heart was in her throat because she'd left the ship without a blaster and she remembered abruptly that Tatooine was a slave planet and was that what they—

"That won't be necessary." Master Jinn's cool tones were enough to halt the two beings. The one eyed him suspiciously, but at least they had stepped away from her as they focused on the Jedi.

"She yours?" the first asked, and a sick feeling formed in the pit of her belly at their words.

"No, she's her own. A free woman. I am merely her traveling companion," said Master Jinn. He made a waving motion with his hand. "I think you'll have better luck elsewhere."

"Yeah. We'll have better luck elsewhere," the being said. They punched their friend in the shoulder. "Come on." 

As quickly as it had started, it was over. Padmé had trouble unlocking her muscles. She'd frozen up, much to her shame. How could she have frozen? She was trained for danger, for assassination attempts. She'd fled her planet during an invasion and had not been caught in panic, not like now, cornered by two . . . whatever they were, wanting her to—what did they want with her—she hadn't moved and there was nowhere to run—

"Come." Master Jinn touched her shoulder, making her jump, and just like that the tension in Padmé's body released, flooding her with adrenaline that had nowhere to go.

"I'm fine," she snapped at him, more harshly than perhaps she should have. If Master Jinn took offense he did not show it. He pressed her shoulder gently to get her moving then dropped his hand, giving her a quick glance as he led them away from the arena. This time Padmé made certain to stay close.

"Who were they?" she asked when they were a few streets away. She kept looking over her shoulder, trying to see if they'd been followed, but it seemed Master Jinn's trick had worked.

"Slave-catchers," he said. "We'd better not split up again."

"I can take care of myself," Padmé felt compelled to point out, though she couldn't quite meet the Jedi's eye as she said it. She was checking their surroundings as they walked, so she wouldn't be caught unaware again. Padmé caught her breath. She wasn't being fair. "Please forgive me, Master Jedi," she said, turning toward him. "Thank you for your help back there."

Master Jinn's expression softened. "I am here to serve."

"To serve the Queen," Padmé said, wondering if his famed Jedi powers could discern the truth. So far it didn't seem like it.

"And as I'm sure the Queen would want you back in one piece, I am at your service as well." He inclined his head to her in a partial bow.

"But not my command," Padmé said dryly, and he laughed.

"No," Master Jinn said, but kindly. "In keeping her, and you, safe, I will follow my own council." He resumed walking, though at a slower pace than before.

"Even if that means throwing yourself into a fighting pit?" This time she raised an eyebrow his way.

"Even so. Though I think you'll find that Jedi are more than a match for most."

"Careful, Master Jinn. That almost sounds like boasting." Padmé felt lighter herself at his casual tone, however, and the last of her scare faded away.

"I wouldn't dream of it," he said, but Padmé caught the corners of his eyes crinkling.

They headed to the main marketplace and found a cafe to get out of the sun for a little while. Master Jinn spent a little of their converted currency on a cold soup that mollified their hunger and thirst both. Padmé wished for a glass of water, but couldn't fault Master Jinn being mindful of their funds. 

While they ate, he filled her in on the details of the tournament bracket he'd entered for the day after tomorrow.

"Pending our entry fee," he said after he'd finished.

"You have to pay to participate?" Unbelievable. Padmé couldn't believe this planet. 

"We do have one asset for collateral," said Master Jinn.

"We do?"

"The ship."

"You can't front the ship!" Padmé couldn't _believe_ him. 

"I'd rather not, of course, and I have an idea of how to avoid it. But I'll still need to put it in play."

She did not like the look of the grin Master Jinn gave her. He was entirely too sure of himself. Padmé narrowed her eyes at him. "And what's that?"


	3. Chapter 3

Ani sat on the counter fixing a CT-4 series droid processor and minding the shop when Padmé, Artoo, and Mister Qui-Gon came back. He almost jumped off the counter right then to run say hello, but Watto heard them come in, and Ani wasn't supposed to talk to customers.

That didn't mean he couldn't look at them. Padmé smiled, and she was sooo pretty, Ani had to look down so Watto wouldn't see him smile back. But Padmé saw. He was pretty sure. She looked like she had, anyway, and she drifted toward the counter as Mister Qui-Gon spoke to Watto. 

Maybe they needed a place to stay again, and they could stay over again. Padmé had been fun to talk to, and she was—

"The pits! I think you overestimate your chances!" Watto's exclamation caught Ani's attention. His eyes snapped to Mister Qui-Gon who looked as calm as ever.

"Then bet against me," he said easily. "But if I win, I will have more than enough money to cover the cost of the hyperdrive."

Watto snorted. "Don't let me stop you from throwing your life away. You won't be buying it anyway."

"But there's the small matter of the entry fee," Mister Qui-Gon went on as if he hadn't been interrupted. "My only collateral is my ship, which is worth much more than the fee, and I'll not be able to buy it back from the winnings."

"A sad and difficult situation that is not my problem," said Watto.

"But perhaps a lucrative one?" Mister Qui-Gon said. 

Ani didn't see how. This was terrible! If they had to sell their ship to fight, there was no point to fighting. Obi-Wan would be happy about that—he hated the fighting pits—but then Padmé wouldn't be able to free her people, and Ani and Obi-Wan would never have even a _chance_ of going with them. They were supposed to go with them. He was sure of it!

He tried to get Padmé's attention, but she just glanced at him, her lips pressed together. Ani couldn't guess what she thought about it all. Mister Qui-Gon was waiting on Watto, who rubbed at his chin.

"I'm listening," he said eventually.

"You front my entry fee," Mister Qui-Gon said. Ani would have laughed if Watto wasn't right there. "If I win my bracket, you take the winnings minus the cost of the hyperdrive. Then I can buy the hyperdrive and we're all happy. If I lose, you get my ship." He pulled out a holocorder and a slick Nubian 327 appeared in his hand. 

Ani could practically see Watto's eyes get greedy big.

"An interesting proposal," Watto said. "What insurance do I have on your ship's collateral?"

"None other than my word. That's why they call it a gamble. But it won't be leaving the system without a hyperdrive," said Mister Qui-Gon.

Watto chuckled. "I'll take your deal then," he said, and he and Mister Qui-Gon shook on it. The Jedi looked pleased about the deal, but when Ani looked at Padmé, she still looked worried. Watto saw it too, and grinned.

After they left, he said to Ani in Huttese, "I don't think that offworlder is very smart."

Ani shrugged. "Maybe not," he agreed in the same language. But then again, he thought privately, Mister Qui-Gon was a Jedi. That had to count for something.

Watto kept his eyes on the door for a moment longer, stroking his chin the way he did when he was thinking. "No, not very smart at all," he said again, then abruptly snapped. "Go find Obi-Wan. I want to talk to him. Then you can go for the day."

"Yay!" Ani scrambled off the counter and tumbled to his feet. He tossed the droid processor back in the basket of other half-done projects and ran out back to the yard. It wasn't even first sunset yet, and if he hurried he could catch up to Padmé before they left the neighborhood.

"Obi-Wan! Obi-Wan!" he shouted as he ran as fast as he could for the sand barge. Obi-Wan's head popped out from the side of the barge where a panel was missing, and Ani shouted in breathless Huttese, "Watto wants you and he said I could go early and I'm gonna go find Padmé, they were just here."

"Ani." 

Ani slammed into the side of the sand barge with a thud that echoed pleasantly though his body. He saw Obi-Wan look upward for a second before he said, "Again, slower."

"Watto wants you," Ani took a breath. "Padmé was just here with Mister Qui-Gon, and Watto said I could go early, so I'm gonna go catch up with them. Can I?"

"Yes. Be home by second sunset." Obi-Wan pushed himself out of the side of the barge and tossed his tools in his kit.

Ani didn't wait for him and took off again. He didn't want to miss Padmé. 

He caught up with them in one of the smaller markets a few streets over. Mister Qui-Gon and Padmé were at Perda's master's stall, buying grain. Perda was weighing it out, and Ani was mindful of her work and slowed to a trot so he wouldn't startle anyone.

"Ani!" Padmé saw him first, and he about skipped over to them when she smiled at him. She was sooo pretty. He knew he was right about her and angels, no matter what she said.

"Hi Padmé!" He got as close as he dared in the street. "What are you doing? Can I help? Where did you get wupiupi?"

"We exchanged some of what we brought," she said. "It's not enough to fix the ship, but enough for supplies."

Mister Qui-Gon took the sack Perda handed him and paid up. "We thought we might repay your kind hospitality yesterday."

Ani liked Mister Qui-Gon's smile. He made everything seem like it would be okay. "You don't have to do that," he said. "It was a sandstorm!" You always took folk in during a sandstorm.

"We'd like to anyway," Mister Qui-Gon said, his smile crinkling around his eyes. "Now, where can we find more of those pallie fruit?"

"Or, is there something special you'd like?" Padmé asked.

"Pallies are good," Ani said, looking from her to Mister Qui-Gon wondering if they meant it. It was hard to tell what he was supposed to pick, but pallies were good, and cheap. He flicked his fingers in goodbye to Perda and then led them to Grandfather Hsio-ho's master's stall in the next street—where they bought a whole sack of pallie fruit at once. 

Ani squinted up at Mister Qui-Gon. "Just how much money did you exchange?" he asked. If he was spending like that then it must have been a lot.

"Enough to see us through the next few days."

"Well, don't tell anyone," Ani said, "or you'll get jumped."

For some reason that made Mister Qui-Gon laugh, and Padmé too, though she was a little nervous about it. 

"I don't think I need to worry about that," Mister Qui-Gon said.

Well, that was dumb. You always needed to watch out for getting jumped. But, "If you say so," was all he said out loud. 

It was a weird thing where being a slave was actually a good thing when it came to getting jumped, as long as there were witnesses, because Depur could collect a damage price. Free beings just got robbed. 

Ani kept them to the more traveled streets when he led them back home, just in case. He wasn't too worried, because he had really good luck, but all it took was once. 

Since it was still before first sunset, not many people were home yet, except for Grandmother and Aishass and the little kids. Ani waved to them, but he had guests so he didn't stop to play. He'd have to wait till tomorrow to see if they thought Padmé was pretty too. Maybe she could come with him in the morning before she had to leave, then they'd really see. Obi-Wan probably wouldn't like it, but Ani didn't think he'd say no.

For now though, he had Padmé all to himself. "Do you want to see my podracer?" he asked as soon as they got home. 

Ani grabbed her hand, because he knew she'd say yes, and tugged her out the back and down the steps. He tugged on the cloth that kept the sand off, and Padmé helped until it was all uncovered. Twin engines and the sleek pod for the pilot—him. He was going to beat Selbulba with this one for sure.

"I built it myself. Mostly. Obi-Wan helped. He's good at getting the screws on tight." Ani really hoped Padmé liked it. She was looking at it with her mouth open so maybe she did. He hopped up onto his toes.

"Wow," she said, and Ani beamed, because she liked it! Something he made, and she liked it! 

"It's most impressive, Ani." Mister Qui-Gon and Artoo had followed them out. The Jedi circled around the pod from the other side, running one hand over it and giving Ani a strange look. It was hard to tell with Mister Qui-Gon sometimes. He didn't say much after that though, just watched as Ani explained how everything worked to Padmé.

"I need to find a new stabilizer for this turbine," Ani said when they came around to the starboard-side engine that didn't work very well. He hoped she could see it okay. First sun had set and second sunset was coming and throwing long shadows everywhere.

Artoo bleated something Ani could almost follow about the stabilizer, and Ani grinned. "It's a 620C series engine. I've got an R-series stabilizer on it now, but it's kind of wonky. Was that what you were asking?" The droid was so wizard! He and Threepio had got on great the night before, and Ani wished he'd had more time to talk to Artoo. A shiny astromech who flew on real ships! Ani bet he could learn so much about flying from him.

"Does Watto let you use parts from the junk yard?" Padmé asked.

"Most of it I found on my own time, but he lets me pick something out from the stuff he doesn't want once a month, when Chenini's full in the sky, which helps with some of the specialized parts. Obi-Wan gets to pick something when Guermessa is high, but he's boring and usually asks for something small we can fix up quick to sell later."

"That sounds rather practical," Padmé said.

Ani sighed because that's what Obi-Wan always said. "I know, but it's taken _forever_ to get this built. And it's not nearly as fun."

"You don't ever build anything small for fun?" Padmé asked, teasing him. Ani didn't know whether to be affronted or not. What was better than building a podracer? Really. There wasn't anything. Except, well . . .

Ani stretched his luck-sense out to check, but no one but his people were around, plus Mister Qui-Gon and Padmé, and they were friends. He was sure of it. 

"One time I made a scanner," he told her quietly, bouncing a little because he wasn't supposed to talk about it. It wasn't exactly a secret, but Obi-Wan was weird about it. "I didn't have everything I needed for it, so it didn't work, but I think it could have if I finished it."

"A scanner for what?" Padmé asked, and it took Ani a minute to figure out that she really didn't know.

"For the explosive chips in us," he said.

Padmé looked over at Mister Qui-Gon, her expression frowning like she didn't understand. But Ani got the feeling that Mister Qui-Gon understood just fine.

"It's why we can't run," Ani told her. "An alert goes off if you pass the proximity sensor and then your master can blow you up if they want."

Padmé's face kind of froze, and maybe she still didn't understand, but then she swallowed like she might be sick, and Ani was sorry he'd brought it up. 

Mister Qui-Gon just seemed sad. Ani remembered how he'd said they weren't here to free slaves, and suddenly he was so _mad_. It wasn't like they had an explosive somewhere in their bodies! They didn't have to worry about crossing a line they didn't know about or Depur's whims if he wanted to blow you up anyway. 

Ani had seen it, right in the market, one disgruntled gambler had sent his slave to the bookie who'd ripped him off and triggered the explosive, killing the slave and the bookie and a bunch of other people nearby. He'd had nightmares about it for weeks. Still did sometimes, though he didn't tell Obi-Wan any more. Obi-Wan always seemed to know anyway so he didn't have to.

"Oh Ani," Padmé sank to her knees beside him, one hand coming to rest on his shoulder. "That's . . . that's terrible. Can you not remove it?"

"That's why I was making the scanner. So we could find where they are and cut them out." Ani shook his head to chase the mad away. It wasn't her fault, and she wanted to help too. Ever since this morning he'd been thinking about trying to make another scanner, or even a jammer—that might work and be easier to get the parts for without Watto noticing.

"There's more than one?" Padmé's eyes got wide.

"Well, everyone has one." Ani gestured around at the other houses on the street. 

"That's a big task," Mister Qui-Gon said quietly. 

Ani glared at him suspiciously, wondering what he meant by that. It was the only task that mattered. "It's the _right_ thing," Ani told him, daring him to disagree.

Mister Qui-Gon bowed his head, like he was saying something with the gesture, but Ani didn't know what. He thought it was okay, though. He felt like the Jedi had heard him.

Second sun had set while they were talking, and Ani was hungry, so when Mister Qui-Gon suggested they get dinner ready that's what they did. Padmé didn't know how to make porridge, so Ani showed her, while Mister Qui-Gon cut the pallies up. They had so many it was going to be really good. 

Oh, Obi-Wan was almost home! Ani ran to open the door for him and let him know Padmé was here with Mister Qui-Gon.

"Look who came back for dinner!" He was so excited he jumped up and down.

Obi-Wan threw a quick look toward the kitchen and froze. That's when Ani noticed Obi-Wan was holding himself really carefully—not a beating, Ani's eyes flicked to the usual places, which he was holding fine. No, it was the coiled careful movement of a hunting anooba. His eyes had fixed on Mister Qui-Gon, and Ani knew, like he always knew, that Obi-Wan was really mad at the Jedi.

He got out of the way so Obi-Wan could stalk though the living area out to the back. The balcony door hissed open and closed, and Ani listened with his luck-sense, really worried now, as Obi-Wan climbed up to the roof. 

"Ani?" Mister Qui-Gon was looking at him with worried eyes, too. He was wiping his hands on a cloth and glanced toward the back like he was thinking of following.

"He's upset," Ani said softly, wondering what was wrong and how he could fix it. His whole chest felt tight, and he wanted to run after Obi-Wan. But it was usually better to wait. 

Mister Qui-Gon was watching him now, with his sad, worried eyes. Ani ducked his head because Mister Qui-Gon's gaze felt heavy on him, so he made himself busy with the pot of porridge. He didn't want to burn dinner, either. "He'll come in later," he told Mister Qui-Gon, going over to help Padmé at the stove.

Mister Qui-Gon still looked like he wanted to go after Obi-Wan, but in the end he didn't, and the three of them sat down to dinner without him, the air heavy and thick and worried around them.

* * *

Qui-Gon eyed the curved slope of the roof to find the best path to take while carrying a bowl of porridge. He used the Force to steady himself, but once he was up, it was an easy walk to where Obi-Wan sat with his arms loosely wrapped around his propped-up knees. His head scarf lay discarded beside him.

The young man watched him approach, face and mind tightly closed off. Qui-Gon kept his own body language open, his steps even, and his mind calm. He didn't know what had upset Obi-Wan so much he'd stormed out as soon as he returned, but Qui-Gon did know he was the cause of it.

He held out the bowl of porridge as a peace offering. 

Obi-Wan stared at it, eyes flickering up to Qui-Gon and back to the bowl, before he finally sighed and accepted it with barely hidden annoyance. Nevertheless, Qui-Gon took that as an invitation to sit.

Nights on Tatooine were chilly. The day's heat escaped quickly into the cloudless sky, making the air brisk, but the roof they sat on held residual warmth that seeped pleasantly through Qui-Gon's trousers. The city lights behind them barely softened the stars, and the view out over the vast desert was spectacular. 

The sound of Obi-Wan eating was the only thing that broke the quiet for the first few minutes, and Qui-Gon took the time to study the constellations. He noted clusters of bright stars and wondered what pictures the locals drew between them. He remained in companionable silence as Obi-Wan put the empty bowl aside, letting the quiet unfurl around them. He didn't press. 

Silence was a wonderful tool when a conversation needed to happen, and he was content to let it work its magic, no Jedi tricks needed.

They watched the first moon rise and the crescent of the second rise some time later.

Qui-Gon considered wryly that he hadn't quite anticipated Obi-Wan being able to stare silently into the desert with such determination, or for so long. 

Obi-Wan continued to give no sign he wasn't completely alone on the roof. If it weren't for the thin current of agitation in the Force, Qui-Gon might have said he'd fallen into a meditative trance. It seemed it would fall to Qui-Gon to break the stalemate. 

During negotiations he usually at least had context for understanding what might be wrong, but he hadn't seen Obi-Wan all day and so had no knowledge of what may have upset him. Ani seemed to think he'd come out of it on his own, but that was the perspective of a boy who needed looking after at the end of the day. 

Perhaps that was the place to start.

"Ani was worried about you at dinner," Qui-Gon said softly.

Obi-Wan didn't so much as twitch.

"He kept watching the door waiting for you to return."

That got him a sideways look that said very clearly he knew what Qui-Gon was doing.

Qui-Gon pretended he had no idea. "He's a good-hearted boy," he went on. "He's been very kind to us. He gives with no thought of reward. You should be very proud of him."

"He always wants to help," Obi-Wan said softly, almost like it was a bad thing. But he sighed, resigned, and at last turned his head toward Qui-Gon. His gaze was frank, searching. "He wants to live up to his name."

"Anakin?" Qui-Gon asked. He didn't know the meaning of it.

Obi-Wan hesitated for a moment, and Qui-Gon thought he might not say. But then he said, "Anakin Skywalker." 

He let the name settle between them, and Qui-Gon found himself glancing involuntarily at the stars scattered overhead.

"He dreams of space, other planets," Obi-Wan said after a minute, watching the stars too. Then his gaze dropped once more to Qui-Gon's, and he said with weight, "Vivid, detailed dreams. But he's never left this planet."

"You think they're visions," Qui-Gon said. 

Obi-Wan turned away again and swallowed hard, and it was easy to see how young he was. Barely grown himself, and yet with so much on his shoulders. Qui-Gon was in no position to relieve those burdens, not in the little time they intended to spend on Tatooine. But he wished he was. 

"Seeing visions of the future is a Jedi trait," Qui-Gon said eventually, "but one that must be handled cautiously. The future is always in flux, and too much focus on a single possible outcome can blind one to the here and now."

Obi-Wan snorted. "Leave the past in the past and tomorrow for tomorrow," he quoted: Qui-Gon's words from their meditation that first day. "Hope for tomorrow is all we have."

"But what you do today changes what comes tomorrow," Qui-Gon said, earning a flash of icy anger from Obi-Wan that undid the slow thaw in their conversation.

"It certainly does," Obi-Wan snapped.

"Ah." Qui-Gon took the opening. "And what did I do today that has affected your future?"

Obi-Wan's shields were good, but they couldn't fully contain his burst of feeling, not from a Jedi Master sitting so close to him. Anger, fear—worrying, but under Obi-Wan's control for now. Resignation, sorrow. Doubt. Then the burst of emotion faded as Obi-Wan let out a steadying breath and buttressed his shields, masking his feelings once more.

"Watto told me you entered yourself in the pit fights. That you offered him a deal to front your entry fee."

"I did," Qui-Gon acknowledged. "I can't risk not being able to buy back the ship we're trying to fix."

"So you offered it to Watto." Obi-Wan's tone conveyed how little he thought of that idea.

"Only if I lose," Qui-Gon said. "I know you said my chances weren't good, but I think you'll find I'm more than a match for any man or beast they put me up against."

"Including me." Obi-Wan wasn't looking at him. He stared out at the desert with the same intensity that he'd ignored Qui-Gon with earlier.

Qui-Gon felt the news land like a blow from behind, unanticipated and knocking him off his center. He took a long steadying breath of his own, then another before speaking. "You?"

Obi-Wan nodded once. "When Watto paid your entry fee he entered me in your bracket. He wants the winnings and your ship both."

"But you're not a pit fighter. Are you?" As soon as he asked, however, he knew what Obi-Wan's answer would be, recalled Anakin's comment about rancors from the night before, the scars on Obi-Wan's arms. How could he have forgotten? 

He closed his eyes when Obi-Wan confirmed it.

"I was. For many years when I belonged to Gardulla at the Palace. I wasn't the best in her stable, but I gave a good show when I fought the beasts. Watto doesn't fight me much in the city pits, but when the Palace season opens he enters me in mid-stakes brackets. I'm valuable enough in the yard he doesn't want me dead. You didn't enter a high-stakes bracket, so he thinks I can beat you."

Qui-Gon opened his eyes on the dark desert and felt the Force flutter around him. Now that the words were out, Obi-Wan was still, calm, hidden. Ani was bright, below in the house. The pulse of the beings in the slave quarters, the city, the scattered moisture farms beyond its limits. Life, holding on in the desert. 

"I'm sorry," Qui-Gon said at last. "That wasn't an outcome I'd anticipated."

Obi-Wan snorted. "You were too busy in the moment," he said, dry and bitter. He turned to look at Qui-Gon, his eyes once more searching. "If you have to kill me—"

"I won't."

"If you have to kill me, or I die," Obi-Wan repeated, "promise me you'll take Anakin with you when you leave. Somehow you'll free him and take him with you." 

"Obi-Wan—"

"Promise me," he demanded. Qui-Gon's heart ached, for he could make no such promise. Obi-Wan read it on his face and shook his head, the anger returning hotly. "You Jedi," he said, and Qui-Gon couldn't distinguish the anger from the hurt.

"I will do my best. For both of you. But I can't make any promises," Qui-Gon said He placed a hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder, which was quickly shaken off.

"He can't stay here. Not without me. He'll get himself killed. He's too smart and too stubborn and too—" 

Obi-Wan stopped himself, but Qui-Gon heard what he wasn't saying. "Too strong in the Force," he finished quietly. "I would think that's a good thing." In the untrained, it often shook the odds in favor of survival.

But Obi-Wan shook his head in rough denial. "It's too easy to be angry here. Too easy to hate." His own eyes burned with emotion when they turned on Qui-Gon once more, and in their depths were the echoes of Obi-Wan's marbled presence in the Force. 

In that moment, the Living Force that surrounded the two of them swirled and pulsed between Light and Dark, and Qui-Gon saw things so very clearly. Obi-Wan's half-trained control was all the more impressive for the shape of what Qui-Gon suddenly _knew_ he had endured. What he had confronted within himself in the midst of cruelty and slavery. What he had lost.

Qui-Gon wanted to reach out again, but this time he kept his hands to himself. Instead he wet his lips, brought his thoughts back to this roof in the desert on this Outer Rim planet. "That's a Jedi teaching," he said, and felt the air between them hold the weight of the familiar words, learned in the Temple creche. He had been fairly sure before, but now . . .

"Will you promise?" Obi-Wan asked again.

The Force had brought them to Tatooine for a reason. Qui-Gon could feel it. He breathed in as his new insight settled and crystallized the path the Force had laid before him. "I promise." He looked Obi-Wan in the eye. "I'll take you both with me."

Obi-Wan didn't appear convinced, but it was enough. "Just take care of Ani," he said. He got to his feet, the tangle of his emotions leaving a trail behind him as he gathered his scarf and bowl, and left the rooftop.

Qui-Gon sat for a while longer, contemplating the complications he'd just added to his problems. But he smiled a little, too. The Force would provide a way. He believed that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chenini and Guermessa are two of Tatooine's three moons.


	4. Chapter 4

"Panaka's right. You should stay here." 

Padmé finished strapping the blaster holder under her tunic and tugged the fabric straight. It fell long enough on her that it would hide the weapon. When she straightened, Sabé was watching her with a frown marring her otherwise flawless makeup.

They'd come back to the ship early that morning, heading out before sunrise to beat the heat. Master Jinn had reported on the situation to Panaka and the woman he thought was the Queen, including his decision to put himself at risk to earn them enough currency to fix the ship. He hadn't listened to Sabé as Queen speaking Padmé's protests either. Now Sabé was turning her disapproval on Padmé.

"You said yourself it's dangerous."

"No more dangerous than it was yesterday," Padmé said. 

After getting clean and putting on a fresh set of clothes, she'd spent the day holed up with her handmaidens. She'd listened to the message from the Governor and had kept herself from weeping in frustration. They were stuck on this Outer Rim planet so far from where they needed to be to get help, and her people were dying. They couldn't send messages for risk of revealing their location to the Trade Federation, and Master Jinn didn't want them to accept any more just in case. 

It was sound advice, Padmé knew it was, but knowing that didn't make it any easier to bear. She had to trust Master Jinn knew what he was doing, and she hated it. She had never felt so helpless.

"You're putting on a blaster," Sabé pointed out, worried.

"I know how to use it," Padmé replied. She took her friend's hands in hers. "We have a place to stay, and I can't send you in my place without making our host nervous." 

Obi-Wan had barely acknowledged her presence the night before when he'd come to tell Ani it was time for bed. She never found out what had upset him, or what he'd talked about with Master Jinn that left them both cautious around each other, but she didn't want to risk his hospitality. He'd already done so much for them—more than they'd had any right to expect—and she didn't want to add to his burden.

Sabé wasn't convinced, and in a fit of honesty, Padmé added, "And I think I might go mad if I had to sit here with nothing to do."

"So you'll make us sit here with nothing to do," Sabé said, squeezing Padmé's hands. "We want to help."

"I know." It wasn't fair of her, she knew, but it was the sole perk of being Queen she had on this forsaken journey. Padmé leaned in and kissed Sabé's hands since she couldn't risk messing up her makeup. "We'll be back in a few days." She couldn't bear the thought of sparing more time. She had to believe that Master Jinn was correct about his skill in the fighting pits.

Padmé met Master Jinn and Captain Panaka at the ramp. Both of them turned to greet her, and Padmé ignored the worry in Panaka's eyes, thankful when he didn't try to convince her to stay, too. Master Jinn had a pack slung over his poncho. They were bringing their own food and water this time, and Padmé accepted the pack he held out for her to carry. It sat heavily between her shoulder blades.

They had started down the ramp when a series of whistles and bleeps came from behind them. R2-D2 came whirring in from the hold.

"Stop! What are you doing?" Panaka stepped in front of the droid and nearly got run over for his trouble. The droid blatted something that didn't sound kind, his dome spinning as he dodged around the captain. Padmé stared at the droid—she'd never seen behavior like that.

"Is it malfunctioning?" she asked. R2-D2 was supposed to stay with the ship now that he wasn't needed. The sand had gotten into all sorts of crevices, and as he was the only astromech they had left, they didn't need him freezing up because of grit.

But Master Jinn shrugged, amused. "He seems to be moving fine." The droid spat something that sounded scathing at the Jedi, who chuckled. "I think he wants to come with us."

Padmé wasn't sure that was a good idea, but R2-D2 was already rolling down the ramp, and she had no idea how one corralled a droid intent on ignoring its instructions. It probably wouldn't do any harm to let him come along. Ani would be happy to see him again, she supposed, as she followed the droid and Master Jinn back into the desert. 

Ani could understand Binary and had chattered as much to the droid last night as he had to her. It had been cute, especially when Ani had gotten excited about something the droid said. The one side of the conversation she could follow had gotten technical quickly, and Padmé had found herself making polite small talk with the cobbled together protocol droid Ani had built out of scavenged units. She didn't think it was what her professors had in mind when hammering diplomacy into her head.

The afternoon sun was still hotter than a furnace, especially after spending all day in the climate controlled ship. Dry, too. Padmé no sooner sweated than it evaporated into the air. She wondered if that's where all the moisture came from that the vaporators condensed for drinking water, from the sweat of helpless offworlders.

They'd been walking for an hour, maybe more, when a black dot buzzed along the horizon. Padmé thought it was a speeder at first, but it resolved itself into something smaller as it flew toward Mos Espa. Master Jinn had stopped to watch it, and R2-D2 beeped inquiringly.

"Do you know what it is?" asked Padmé.

"A droid of some kind, I suspect," Master Jinn said. But he was watching it with more attention than Padme would have thought he'd give a random droid. He glanced at her, and she was not reassured by the worry line on his brow. But he didn't say anything more about it. They watched it disappear over the next dune before resuming their walk.

By the time they reached the city, Padmé was thirsty and footsore. Master Jinn needed to check in at the fighting pit arena to make sure the entry fee was paid. After a brief reminder that she was armed now, Padmé tried to convince him that she would be perfectly fine going on ahead to the slave quarters on her own.

Master Jinn just gave her a look that spoke volumes of just what he thought about that. "I thought we had this discussion yesterday," he said. 

Padmé's hands landed on her hips. "Taking me to the most dangerous quarter of the city will put me in even more danger," she said reasonably.

"It's almost sunset. I don't like the idea of you walking around after dark."

"First sunset."

"The second sets not long after."

Padmé hated that he wouldn't come right out and say what he thought. "I'm not afraid of the dark," she said with a touch more heat than she should have. She knew better. Her professors would despair of her showing more than she should of her true feelings. But let them try to argue with a Jedi.

"It's not the dark that worries me," said Master Jinn with implacable calm. 

Padmé refrained from scowling and glanced at the market path they stood on, seeing the vendors begin to prepare to pack up for the day. She'd lost this round, but before she fully resigned herself to trailing after Master Jinn across the city and back, she caught sight of a lucky break. Obi-Wan was coming down the street from the direction of the pits.

Master Jinn turned to look when she raised a triumphant eyebrow at him. "Will another male protector suffice in your place?" she asked him tartly.

"Since it's not out of his way," said Master Jinn, with an infuriating, knowing smirk. He was insufferable, and Padmé did roll her eyes at the Jedi behind his back when he waved as Obi-Wan caught sight of them. 

Obi-Wan caught her at it and for what seemed like the first time, his gaze lingered on Padmé as he returned their greeting. She straightened, as she always did under scrutiny, feeling a little foolish, and leveled her best smile upon him, the one designed to make petitioners more comfortable when speaking to her as Queen. When she was dressed as a handmaiden, it never failed to put people at ease. The one unexpected side-effect was that Obi-Wan smiled back—a reflexive curl to his lips that was there and gone, and left Padmé with her heart suddenly aflutter.

She had noticed Obi-Wan was attractive before, but he'd been too focused on Master Jinn and she'd been paying attention to Ani who was far more approachable—and didn't ignore her—that she hadn't expected for his smile to have such an effect on her. 

She desperately hoped her face wasn't as red as it felt, wishing her hormones would behave. Fortunately, he was listening to Master Jinn now, and Padmé had a moment to pull herself together. She'd seen handsome faces before. She was accustomed to their use as a tool of persuasion, and it wasn't hard to dismiss her inconvenient feelings. 

Then Master Jinn was saying, "I'll be as quick as I can, but don't wait for me," as he passed Obi-Wan his pack and headed off with a final nod in her direction. Padmé was left alone with Obi-Wan's full attention.

"I can take your pack," he said, as he slung Master Jinn's over his shoulder, and with the way he said it, suddenly it was easy to forget how good-looking he was when he smiled. 

Padmé raised her chin a little. "I can carry it," she informed him. She wasn't weak.

"Of course." He cut himself short, as if he was going to say something more, and in her head Padmé heard, your majesty, since it was appended to most things said to her. But he didn't know that, and a moment later she realized he'd stopped himself from calling her 'master.'

Her indignation immediately turned sour in her stomach. Obi-Wan's eyes dropped and he turned down the street, heading off without another word. She had to take a deep breath to collect herself again, feeling worse than foolish. R2-D2 bleeped at her, which got her moving again, and she trotted to catch up, the droid rolling along behind. 

The walk was terribly awkward. Padmé didn't know what to say, feeling every inch of the power and privilege she'd grown up with and not knowing what to do with it in this situation. Obi-Wan kept his eyes ahead, content to ignore her again and keep his thoughts to himself. Ani was far easier to talk to. He chattered and asked questions and was off to the next subject before a pause could get awkward.

But she wasn't Queen of Naboo for nothing. "So, what do you think Qui-Gon's chances are of winning the tournament?" she asked.

Obi-Wan glanced over at her. "He's a Jedi. I'd say they were higher than most."

"You had some doubts the other night," she reminded him.

He shrugged. "They might set stronger beasts against him, but if he makes it through them, he'll do fine."

"I don't need you to soften the truth for me." Padmé said. She neither needed nor wanted coddling. "I need to know. He's putting himself into a lot of danger for this not to work. We need to fix our ship."

Obi-Wan gave her a considering look and then said, "There aren't many other ways to earn money on Tatooine, when you have nothing. His odds are better in the pits than on a podrace, even if you could wait that long."

"And those are our only options? Prize money?"

"I'd doubt enough people would pay to sleep with him to earn the currency you need for the hyperdrive." He gave her a sideways look. "Of course, the brothel owners would probably come after you for infringing on their market, and then you'd have even more trouble on your hands." 

Only years of training kept Padmé from flinching. She shouldn't be surprised that organized prostitution was alive and well out here, too. "Is there anything that's not for sale on this planet?" she asked, exasperated.

That made Obi-Wan laugh wryly. "Sand?" he suggested with a flash of his smile that Padmé found herself returning. His whole face lightened when he smiled, and she was struck again by a flutter in her belly. It was ridiculous. She'd been trained to set her reactions aside to charming men—or to use it for Naboo's gain —but it was much harder to remember away from the artifice of her court. Nothing would come of it, of course. He was much too old for her, and she had too much to do to bother with fancies. But the part of Padmé that was still a girl basked in his smile, while it lasted. Which, unfortunately, wasn't long.

Obi-Wan ducked his head when she stared too long, and Padme felt the pressing need to look away. The white buildings of Mos Espa were growing smaller and more crowded as they reached the edge of the commercial district. The shadows were getting longer, and more and more people were headed in the direction of the slave quarters. There were so many more enslaved people than Padmé had first thought, even having seen the rows of small apartments. It was different, watching them walk home after a long day laboring in the heat. 

And all of them had a tracker and an explosive inside them. She glanced again at Obi-Wan. Him and Ani, too. Her skin itched just thinking about it. 

"How do you stand it?" she blurted out. Obi-Wan was also watching the people around them.

Obi-Wan, sounding puzzled, replied, "Stand what? Sand? There's no choice really. It's everywhere. Gets into everything."

"No, I meant . . ." She trailed off, unable to find a polite way to say 'being owned by another being, wired to explode if you stepped out of line,' and now wishing she had kept her rude questions to herself.

But Obi-Wan understood what she meant. "The same way. You stand it or you die." He spoke as calmly as Master Jinn did about life and death. 

Padmé didn't understand how he could be so calm. She would be so angry—she _was_ angry, on his behalf. She was angry for Ani, who had asked her question after question last night about growing up on Naboo, shocked by water and freedom both. Angry that none of the free beings out here saw anything wrong with enslaving other sentients. Angry that there was nothing she could do about it. Angry that her thoughts all day had churned through fear and worry for her people locked up in detention camps by the Trade Federation. How long would they be kept idle before the Federation forced them back to work, probably without compensation, in all the industries they so dearly loved to tax?

They reached the slave quarters, and Padmé swallowed down her fear for Naboo. They weren't to that point. Not yet. Master Jinn was going to win them the currency they needed to fix the ship and they'd make it to the Senate, who would stop the Trade Federation. She had to believe that.

"Obi-Wan!" A male-presenting being who looked human at first glance until Padmé caught sight of his orange, wide-set eyes jogged over to them. He and Obi-Wan clasped hands, pulling each other close briefly in greeting. 

"Dernai," Obi-Wan nodded to him when they separated. He didn't introduce Padmé, and Dernai's eyes only briefly scanned over her and R2-D2, before returning to Obi-Wan.

"I heard your name was in the lists," Dernai said.

"Yes. Watto's looking for some extra coin."

Dernai nodded. "Not too much extra I hope." 

His eyes flickered to Padmé again, and she was surprised when Obi-Wan told him, "She's all right."

Some of the tension dropped from Dernai, who gave her another look and a bit of a smile. "Well then, we didn't send any requests to the Palace, and Lor didn't send a message." He paused as if he was going to say something else, but instead just nodded again.

"Thanks. That's good to hear," Obi-Wan's voice held a note of relief in it, and after that Dernai took his leave. 

Padmé was certain that had she not been there the conversation would have been much more forthcoming. She stifled the urge to demand answers in the open, but as soon as they reached Obi-Wan's residence, she asked, "What was that about?"

Obi-Wan glanced at her as he set the pack down on the table. "The pit fights. They made no requests of the Palace."

"Which means?" Padmé set her own pack down and started unpacking the canisters. 

"They didn't request expensive beasts for us to fight. A little luck going our way," Obi-Wan said, the lightness in his eyes fading as he watched her set the water on the table. "That's a lot of water for one night."

"They're for you and Ani, too. A thank you for helping us," Padmé told him. He stared at her for a long moment, like he didn't understand, then he stared at the canisters again.

"You didn't have to. Your people must need it," he said softly.

"We wanted to," Padmé said. "There's more than enough on the ship, and the recyclers are in good order. It's the least we can do." 

He studied her with an unreadable expression. "You already bought us fruit and grain. That was more than enough to pay us back."

"And now you have water." Padmé wanted to fidget under his stare, but she kept her hands still and her own gaze steady.

"And the price?" Obi-Wan asked slowly.

"Price?"

"Well, it's not sand," he said, sarcasm apparent. "You must want something." 

Padmé did roll her eyes this time. "What I want is for us to repair our ship and continue on our mission to help my people, but I can't do that—or anything about it at all—except trust that Master Jinn knows what he's doing and he won't get himself killed. I can, however, make sure that you and Ani aren't put out for letting us stay so we don't have to walk through the desert every day, so yes. We brought you water and more food. And you should accept it and stop arguing."

She raised her chin a little, daring him to turn her down. 

Obi-Wan stared at her for a long moment, and then hesitantly reached out and touched one of the canisters like it was precious, hesitating before his fingers made contact. His expression cracked then and something like wonder slowly spread across his face. He glanced up at her, like he still couldn't believe she was serious, like he was waiting for her to snatch the water away from him. When she didn't, his hold became more sure and he picked up the canister.

"I . . . uh." Obi-Wan cleared his throat, overcome all of a sudden, and Padmé had the sudden crushing feeling that he'd never received anything without a price attached to it. She looked away, wanting to give him a little space, needing a little of her own. 

"Thank you," he managed at last, voice hoarse. He'd ducked his head again, staring at the canister and swallowing hard to clear his throat. 

Padmé nodded focusing on the canister nearest her instead of him. "Where should I put them?"

* * *

Ani left the shop between sunsets. Watto had kept him late to make up for Obi-Wan leaving early to check in at the fighting pits. He moved quickly since the light was going but also because he was sooo hungry. Midday was forever ago and the afternoon had passed slowly, especially once Obi-Wan left and he'd had to pay attention to his work by himself. He'd caught Watto's sharp hand to the back of his head more than once when he'd been lost in thought. It's not like he meant to fall behind on purpose.

He was about halfway home when he heard his name called from a side street that met the avenue he was on. Ani froze, but relaxed when he saw it was Mister Qui-Gon. He ran over, bouncing on his toes, not as tired anymore.

"Hello, Ani." Mister Qui-Gon ruffled his hair. "Heading home?"

"Yep! Are you and Padmé coming for dinner again? Where is she?" He looked behind Mister Qui-Gon the way he'd come but he didn't see her or Artoo.

Mister Qui-Gon smiled and gently pushed his shoulder to turn him back toward the path home. "We met Obi-Wan on the way in and she walked back with him. I imagine she's already at your house."

Ani threw his arms in the air, unable to contain his excitement. He knew they'd come back! He'd worried when Obi-Wan had been so mad last night, but all that was good now. Mister Qui-Gon was a Jedi, and everything was going to be fine.

"Do you have a laser sword like in the stories?" he asked, turning to see if he could find it. The stories all said that Jedi had laser swords. He'd win his fights for sure if he had one.

"I do," Mister Qui-Gon said, patting his hip. For a moment, the fabric of his poncho pressed against a cylindrical outline there, and Ani wanted to ask if he could hold it. But weapons weren't allowed and he wasn't dumb enough to risk it in the streets, even if they weren't that busy as everyone closed up shop and went home.

"What's it like, being a Jedi?" he asked instead.

Mister Qui-Gon smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "That's a very big question," he said. "It's a life of service and discipline. But one where you are in a position to help a great many people."

"Like Padmé?"

"Like Padmé." Mister Qui-Gon agreed. "And you, and your father, if I can."

"Us?"

"Yes."

Ani frowned. "But you said you weren't here to free us." Obi-Wan had been very clear about him not getting his hopes up when they'd gone to sleep last night.

"No." Mister Qui-Gon looked mad about that, which made Ani feel a little better. "But there's more than one way to help people in need."

"I guess," Ani said, though he didn't understand how. If Ani were a Jedi, he'd free everyone and then he'd go find his mom and free her, and then he'd take out all the slavers so no one would ever be owned by anyone else ever. That's what he'd do. 

He eyed Mister Qui-Gon out of the corner of his eye. Ani was lucky, the way Obi-Wan was lucky. And he dreamed sometimes . . . "Could I be a Jedi?"

Mister Qui-Gon wasn't bothered at all by the question, and he didn't laugh either. "It's not an easy path," he said. "It's many years of hard work and training. It means giving up things and dedicating yourself to a greater purpose."

For a moment, Ani could see it—him and his laser sword, swirling in black robes. But as swiftly as the vision came into being it slipped away, and Ani felt what he knew Obi-Wan had meant about getting his hopes up. "I'd have to be free, though," he said, drooping.

Mister Qui-Gon let out a long sigh. "Yes. But perhaps one day you will be."

There was a saying among his people, _when the rains come,_ that Ani would have said right then. Except, Mister Qui-Gon was an offworlder so it wouldn't mean anything. It didn't matter anyway because they were almost home, and up ahead he heard Kister and Wald laughing. He could worry about being free later. 

"Ani!" Kister shouted when he thudded into the wall a few doors down from his house. Everyone was there, Amee, Melee, and Seek too, playing swat-ball against the duracrete. Kister jumped on Ani and knocked them both to the ground. "Get out of the way! You're messing things up!" he said in their language. He probably hadn't seen Mister Qui-Gon yet.

"Sorry." Ani switched them to Huttese. "Did you meet Padmé?" 

"You talking about your angel again?" Kister shoved at him.

"Everyone knows angels aren't real," Melee said scornfully.

"They are too! And Padmé's real!" Ani spat back.

"Who's that?" Wald pointed behind them at Mister Qui-Gon who was walking slowly toward them.

But Obi-Wan opened the door then and stuck his head out. Ani felt him the way he always did when it was time to come in. He usually shouted too, but he didn't when he saw Mister Qui-Gon. Ani only noticed because now Mister Qui-Gon was heading toward the door, and Ani could hear Artoo beeping a query at Obi-Wan about what was going on, and that meant Padmé was there, too.

"Come on! Come meet her!" Ani grabbed Kister's shirt and dragged him toward home, waving his hands toward the others to follow. "Padmé! Come meet my friends!" Ani pushed past Obi-Wan to get inside. She was in the kitchen by the table and looked surprised but happy to see them when Ani ran to give her a hug. 

"Did you really grow up on a planet where it rains?" Melee still didn't believe him.

"Do you have a ship? Is it big?" Seek asked. "Wow, is that your droid?" 

Artoo rolled over, and Ani threw his arm around him, too. "This is Artoo! He's a real astromech," he said proudly, making a face at Melee when she rolled her eyes.

"Where are your wings?" Wald asked Padmé.

"Do you have pallie fruit?" Amee was at the back of the group asking Obi-Wan.

"Yes. Yes, we do. Wonderful to know where I rank in all this," Obi-Wan said. He had his hands on his hips but Ani could tell he wasn't really grumpy, just playing at it. He was pretty happy actually, which made Ani happy. "All right," Obi-Wan said, "everyone staying for dinner set the table. Seek, go run and let folks know you're here tonight. Ani, 'fresher, now. You can badger Padmé while we eat."

"Don't go anywhere," Ani told Padmé before he ran off to get cleaned up, bubbling with having everyone together.


	5. Chapter 5

Obi-Wan listened with half an ear before dawn the next morning as Ani told Padmé all about pit fights. 

He was back in his room, after spending the night in Ani's again, unearthing the chest that he didn't open unless he had to. It had the seal of Gardulla's Palace on it, a memento of his time there that he revisited for Watto more often than he liked. After flipping the latch, Obi-Wan pulled out the pieces of his cobbled together armor. Vambraces, shinguards, a pair of mismatched pauldrons held on by straps that had certainly seen better days. He had a fitted tunic with bone from a dozen desert creatures sewn into it for his torso and upper legs, a gift from the elders. It wasn't full coverage, but it was better than nothing and had turned away enough knives and spears that he was grateful for it.

Slaves were outfitted at their masters' mercy. The ones who fought regularly were as well equipped as the bounty hunters and mercenaries who entered the pits to earn a little currency. Those whose masters were cheap or wanted to punish them, or slaves who were bought to fill the fighting spots when fighters were scarce in the brackets, sometimes had no protection at all.

Obi-Wan was somewhere in between these days. Watto didn't object to whatever armor Obi-Wan scrounged for himself, but he didn't exactly invest in Obi-Wan's protection either. It helped with the betting odds, putting him in as an underdog—because surely, this time, someone would get the better of him.

It was always about bettering the odds, he thought sourly. Maximum profits were all that Watto cared about, which is why he was getting ready for the pits rather than a usual day of work. He sighed and tried not to think about it. The Jedi had invited him to meditate with him earlier, but Obi-Wan knew he'd find no calm by sitting still and silent this morning. 

For the first time in perhaps his entire life, he actually cared about the outcome of the week's fights. 

The only problem was the outcome he wanted might end very badly for him, and try as he might, Obi-Wan couldn't see a way for the Jedi to win and for himself not to lose either his life or worse in the process. If he didn't make it to the final round, that would mean he'd lose to someone else as dangerous as he was, and Watto would take it out on him and Ani. If he did make it, then he had to decide how much he wanted to live.

"Once the loser is on their knees, the crowd decides if they live or die. Most of the time they die," Ani was explaining to Padmé, who repeated what had become her favorite phrase.

"That's barbaric. Wouldn't they want them to live to fight again?"

"That's why it's the crowd, see. Then it's not in the owners' hands. People bet on the mood of the crowd, too."

"Of course they do." She sighed. 

Obi-Wan checked the pull of his shoulder straps over his tunic, adjusting the cloth so he'd have full range of motion.

"The city pits are usually nicer than the Palace pits," Ani said. "That's what Dernai says anyway. He says it's because more mercenaries enter than slaves. I guess I'll find out today if that's true. You'll let me sit with you, right?"

"You've never been?" Padmé asked, surprised.

"Nope. Watto'd never pay for me to watch the fights." 

Obi-Wan knew where this was going and grabbed his boots to put on in the main room where he could head it off.

"Well, I guess—" was as far as Padmé got before he joined them and told Ani a very decided, 

"No."

Ani was already twisting in his chair, protests tumbling from his mouth. "But it's the city pits, they have cheap seats!"

"I don't care. You're not going," Obi-Wan said. He sat down and started re-lacing his boots with the sturdier cords that would strap through his shinguards.

Ani threw up his hands into the air with a huff. "But that's not fair! You always go to fight and I have to wait here and I don't know what happens until you come back. Padmé said I could sit with her!"

"We wouldn't have to stay for—" Padmé started hesitantly, but she snapped her mouth shut when Obi-Wan sent a glare her way to stay out of it.

"You'll survive, Ani, just like you have all the other times," he said as calmly as he could.

"But whyyyy?"

Obi-Wan finished with his right boot and met Ani's whining with, "I don't want you watching the fighting."

"I've seen people get killed before," Ani said with clear scorn. "I'm not a baby."

"That doesn't mean you have to watch when you don't have to." Obi-Wan's patience was beginning to thin.

"Well, I want to! And you can't stop me!" Ani shouted. He was kneeling on his chair, leaning over the table towards Obi-Wan, whose patience snapped. 

"Ani—"

"I am coming! I'll follow after you leave!"

"You are not coming and that's final! You hear me?" Obi-Wan said, standing and raising his voice, but Ani didn't listen because he never did when he was angry.

"You don't get to tell me what to do!" he shouted back. "You don't _own_ me!"

"That's enough, Anakin!" Obi-Wan roared, stung, even though he knew Ani was only trying to hurt him. He could feel the roiling of Ani's anger and frustration battering against his own, flaring hot and dangerous. With effort, Obi-Wan smothered the urge to reach out and shake him. Ani wore a fierce scowl that darkened his brow with no sign of giving in. 

"You can scream all you want," Obi-Wan tried and failed to rein in his volume, "but you're staying here!" 

"Why don't we all take a deep breath and calm down," the Jedi interjected into the pause that followed. Ani turned his not inconsiderable anger toward him, when he came to stand near Padmé.

"Tell him that!" he shouted, pointing at Obi-Wan, his face red. "He's the one who's going to the pits _without me_! He never lets me go! He never wants me around!" 

"Yes, blame me for wanting to spare you from watching a bloodbath!" Obi-Wan snapped. The Jedi raised a quelling hand toward him, which was rich from him as he should be on Obi-Wan's side, because it was right to spare the innocent—or preserve what little innocence Ani had left of his rotten childhood. He felt the aggressive calm the Jedi was pushing at them both and he let his anger push back, even as he knew he was being as childish as Ani.

Bright fierce Ani, who was livid in the rage he turned on Obi-Wan. "I'm not a baby!" he screamed, voice cracking as frustrated tears burst free.

"Anakin," the Jedi said, "I'm sure your father—" but Ani wasn't done.

"He's not my father! He's not my master!" He turned on Obi-Wan. "You can't tell me anything! I hate you!" 

And, as Obi-Wan's own insides cracked, hurt burning through his anger, Ani pushed himself from the table, knocking his chair over as their clay dishes cracked and burst into pieces, and ran from the room, out the back door, down the steps and into the back alley where he screamed all his rage and frustration to the sky.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, his own heart clenching. He pulled his senses back in a turbulent mire of frustration and pain and residual fear and anger that was turning to shame. He desperately wanted to break something, but Ani had already done that, and Padmé's frightened eyes and the Jedi's judging ones were both on him. 

With deliberate care, he turned his back on them, took his remaining boot with him out the front door, and set about lacing it to his shinguard on the stoop, with short, jerky impatience. 

Done, he set out for the pits. Ani would stay as told or he'd follow as threatened. He was right about one thing: Obi-Wan couldn't prevent him from coming to the fights short of chaining him to his bed—which he would rather strangle himself before doing.

It was still early. First sunrise was just beginning to light the horizon, and Obi-Wan nodded to the few folk out who were starting their day. The Jedi caught up to him before he left the quarter, his long legs easily keeping up with Obi-Wan's quick pace.

"I asked Padmé to stay with Ani," he said, his voice low and infuriatingly calm. 

Obi-Wan wanted to ignore him—he didn't want to talk at all—but instead he nodded once in acknowledgement. "Thank you."

If anyone could sway Ani, the girl had the best shot. He should tell Aishass what was happening, ask her to check in on them. The Jedi followed without question as he led them on a detour, even hanging back while Obi-Wan knocked on her door. Aishass answered, leaning heavily on her crutch. Her lekku twitched and she promised she would stop by and do her best to dissuade Ani from following, but she didn't say it with much hope. They both knew how stubborn he was. Obi-Wan thanked her anyway.

"Ar-Amu be with you today, Obi-Wan," she said softly, catching his hand as he took his leave. "Come back to us."

He squeezed her fingers. "I will," he said. He took a deep breath and tried to smile. Aishass's knowing look told him he hadn't quite managed confidence, but she smiled back and it was enough.

The Jedi fell into step with him again, and Obi-Wan sensed his questions and wondered how long it would be till he asked them. Not that it was any of the Jedi's business. Obi-Wan kept his eyes ahead and once the sun was high enough that he'd wrapped on his head scarf, kept his face hidden beneath the trailing edge. 

With most people, Obi-Wan had a vague sense of what they wanted from him. Even Padmé, who was so sincere he didn't trust her good nature on principle alone, had loose hints of her thoughts about her. But the Jedi was as quiet beside him as Ani was when he was minding his thoughts.

Even so, he could guess what the Jedi wanted to know, and he wasn't disappointed. "Ani said you weren't his father," the Jedi said carefully.

Obi-Wan remained stubbornly silent. He considered not answering. He knew why the Jedi was asking. In the end he said shortly, "Not biologically." Then with more heat, because he couldn't not, "But he's mine in all the ways that matter." He glared at the Jedi, daring him to contradict him. The roil of anger and frustration was easily matched by fierce protectiveness, mixing and swirling in Obi-Wan's chest. "Headaches and all."

"I had assumed because of his strength in the Force," the Jedi said with that same infuriating calm. "It's sometimes hereditary."

"Most people do," Obi-Wan said. He'd noticed the Jedi's assumption, of course, but it was easier and safer to let people think them related.

"And his birth parents?" he asked.

Obi-Wan glanced over at the Jedi, whose aggressive calm had been replaced by a worry line between his brows. "Does it matter?" he asked.

"He's stronger than you—he's stronger in raw power than me," the Jedi said, surprising Obi-Wan. "Even untrained. His display this morning was . . ." He trailed off.

Snorting, Obi-Wan said, "Expensive." 

The Jedi shot him a look, and Obi-Wan didn't care that he was making light of forces beyond his ken. At the end of the day, he was the one who'd have to find new earthenware and pick up the pieces of Ani's anger on his own, his power in the Force be damned. But he relented when the Jedi's frown only deepened.

"His mother was my friend, and she wasn't Force-sensitive. She never talked about his father. All I know was that he was no slave." From the Jedi's expression, Obi-Wan didn't need to spell out for him how she had probably gotten pregnant.

"What happened to her?" the Jedi asked.

"She was sold. Ani was five. I promised to look after him." 

"She's alive then?" he sounded surprised.

Obi-Wan swallowed down a tangle of anger, worry, and sadness. It was hard to think of Shmi, even after all this time. "I hope so."

"I hope so too," the Jedi said, his expression full of sympathy. Obi-Wan had to blink sand out of his eyes, glad when he left it at that. 

The pit arena was already crowded when they reached it. Once they checked in at the fighters' gate, they were searched and had to register their outside weapons. Obi-Wan had none and watched impressed and with no little envy when the Jedi talked his way past the guards with his lightsaber still on his hip.

"It's a wonder you need to fight at all," Obi-Wan said dryly, swallowing down the resentment that the Jedi could use the Force so easily.

"It comes in handy," the Jedi said, "but it does not work on all beings." He gave Obi-Wan a sideways look. "You do a form of it."

"What?" Obi-Wan gave a startled laugh. "I don't. I can't. Even if I'd learned how, I'd have forgotten like everything else."

They descended into the arena's underground outer staging ring, where they'd wait for their matches, following the flow of beings to the armory.

"You encourage others to look away from you. It's probably an unconscious defense mechanism." The Jedi was amused, which Obi-Wan found annoying. 

"Fat lot of good it does me," he grumbled, because it made far too much sense, and he hated it. On some level, he'd always known, but thinking about it as a deliberate use of the Force—Obi-Wan braced himself against even the thought, the echo of the shakes making his right wrist twitch. He shook it out sharply, catching a look from the Jedi at the sudden motion.

He took their arrival at the front of the armory queue as a chance to get some space. He chose a spear with a wide head and a vibroblade longknife. 

As a slave, Obi-Wan was forbidden from carrying weapons anywhere but the pits, but to ward off unfair murders, he was allowed to be armed for the duration of the day's fights. None of the fighters were allowed to leave the staging ring until all the fights were done, in order to stave off all sorts of cheating. It still happened of course. You could pay for anything on Tatooine. But with bets flying fast, the bookies kept as tight a leash as they could on everyone else's under-the-table maneuvering.

The Jedi had followed him to the rack of bladed weapons. His lightsaber was hidden under his poncho. Obi-Wan could just see the outline of the hilt as the Jedi reached for and returned several options. The sudden sense memory of holding one in his hands hit him, the hum, the ease with which it sliced through the air.

"You're not fighting with your saber?" Obi-Wan asked, getting a hold of himself. "You'd win, easily." 

"Not if I can avoid it. Our weapons and how we use them tend to be memorable." The Jedi smirked a little, searching out a bladed sword that would undoubtedly be just as deadly in his hands. "We are trying to keep a low profile."

"I very much doubt your matches are going to be quickly forgotten," Obi-Wan said dryly. 

They went back into the staging ring, circling around to the segment where they would wait for their fights. It was crowded as it usually was on the first day. They'd have tomorrow off, while the other brackets competed for spots in the finals, which would be held on the third day. Matches would start in an hour or so with the melées to weed out the hopeful from the serious. The crowd would be thin, but no one cared about the early rounds. Some said the fights didn't properly start till the beast round and showed up accordingly.

Obi-Wan kept to the outer wall with his head down. He didn't want to accidentally make eye contact with the mercenaries and free-born fighters that occupied this section of the ring. They were wide awake and already boasting about how many they would kill, and it wasn't unheard of for them to get an early start. Even though the ring technically made them equals down here, it wasn't worth making himself a target.

The Jedi followed him, and it wasn't until they neared the other slave fighters that Obi-Wan realized he intended to sit with him. He stopped and put a hand out, close to but not touching the Jedi's chest.

"You have to stay on that side," he nodded toward the raucous cacophony of the mercenaries. The Jedi glanced back at them, then ahead where the slaves had gathered, talking quietly, watching them. He nodded at Obi-Wan in understanding, though he didn't appear to like it.

"Very well," he said, taking a few steps backward.

Obi-Wan had the very distinct feeling of having let down an elder. Which was ridiculous. The Jedi was no elder, and Obi-Wan owed him nothing. 

Still, he said, "I'll see you out there," nodding toward the arena, before going to find a quiet spot to warm up. The Jedi didn't go far and settled in to meditate the time away.

Out of his immediate presence, Obi-Wan released a long breath. He swung his arms to loosen them up and tried to focus on the upcoming fights. The other slaves eyed him but left him alone. Most were better armored than he was, strong from long hours of training since their owners had bought them for the pits. Only a few lived in the quarter, the rest kept close in their owners' private stables, but Obi-Wan recognized most of their faces from the Palace season. Here and there were others from the quarter who were good enough that their owners, like Watto, entered them to earn extra money for their masters.

A few depurs were making the rounds already. They entered from the officials' entrance at the other end of the fighters' segment of the ring. Stairs there ran up to the stands, and it would be blocked off once the beast round started to prevent cheating. But the rules were always bent before then.

Obi-Wan kept a wary eye on the gate, and sure enough ten minutes later, Watto came flying through it. He did this before every fight. His master had a gambler's superstition about their rituals. Obi-Wan could recite his speech word for word at this point. 

A nearby slave fighter glared at Obi-Wan when he swung his blades a little too close to give himself more space. Watto's wings hummed behind him, and Obi-Wan ducked his head as he turned. Watto eyed his competition with a disdainful eye.

"They look like a sorry bunch, eh?" Watto said. "Nothing like the Palace. You've defeated worse."

"Yes, master," Obi-Wan agreed. The slaves would be his biggest competition, but for a city match that no one wanted to die in, they'd be fighting for the betting spread as much as the win.

"No holding back, you hear?" Watto turned back to him, one hand pointing in his face. Obi-Wan squashed the urge to flinch back and nodded. "This is an important match, and that offworlder is not to win. You put him down and you put him down hard. I want him dead, understand?

Easier said than done, even if Obi-Wan had any intention of following through. "Yes, master."

"I want that ship. That ship is worth more than you and Ani put together, so you make sure you get it, or you won't be worth the water and food I waste putting into the two of you."

Obi-Wan nodded, his thoughts jumping to the supplies the offworlders had given them. "Yes, master." Watto made the threat every time he fought, and every time the betting and the prize money left him at a net loss, he made good on it. This time, they'd weather it more easily. This time, Ani might not have to weather it all.

"I expect great things from you, Obi-Wan. Don't disappoint me," Watto said at the end as he always did.

"I won't, master," Obi-Wan replied as he always did. Watto's beady eyes caught his, his mouth twisted in an ugly frown. Obi-Wan thought of smashing it into the wall, but ducked his head again in another quick, obedient bow.

When Watto left, he found the Jedi watching him with a frown, which made him scowl and mind his mental shields. The Jedi needed the prize money, and with his skill and powers, he'd likely defeat the rest of them to do it. Obi-Wan at least had to make a good show of trying to stop him, even if that meant taking on more risk. And if they met in the final and the crowd wanted blood, well . . . 

It wasn't hard to conjure the image of his own broken body bleeding out into the sand. And it wasn't a hardship to think about his own death. He'd be free in his own way. As long as the Jedi did as he'd promised and got Ani away, that would be enough.

Ani could hate him all he wanted, but he'd be alive and free, and that was all Obi-Wan cared about.

* * *

Ani sat curled up between his racing pod and the wall of the house, glaring at Padmé. If she really liked him, why was she on their side? He wrestled with the sense of betrayal that threatened to push aside his anger. But then he realized that she was just doing what _she_ was told by Mister Qui-Gon because she was nice and wanted to do the right thing even if she didn't know better. Neither of them knew better. Neither of them knew anything.

By the time he no longer felt like screaming, Obi-Wan and Mister Qui-Gon had left, and Padmé had suggested they just sit for a minute before rushing off anywhere. That had been a while ago—the suns were up now—and Ani didn't care what Padmé said, he was going to go to the pits just as soon as Obi-Wan was there for sure and couldn't come out again. Once the first match started, no one could stop him. 

"He's only trying to protect you," Padmé said into the heavy silence between them. She'd tried saying that earlier too, but Ani had turned his back on her. Now he glared at her where she sat on the back step.

"I don't need protecting. I'm not a baby."

"But you're still young—"

"I'm _nine_ ," Ani said because that was hardly young. She should know; she wasn't that much older than him.

Padmé sighed and looked at her hands. Her elbows were propped on her knees, and one of her boots was turned in toward the other. "On my planet, we wouldn't let anyone watch." 

As far as arguments went, it was a dumb one. "On your planet, no one fights, so there'd be nothing to watch." Ani kicked at the sand in front of him. It wouldn't be long. He could probably go now.

"Well, I don't want to watch, and if you go, then I have to," said Padmé. 

"No one's making you."

"I'm not letting you go alone."

"Why, because I'm _young_?" It was just another word for baby.

"No," Padmé said softly. She was looking at his pod now, but then her eyes found his and they were so soft he almost couldn't stand it. "Because if you really wanted to go alone, you'd have gone already."

That got Ani to his feet. What did she know? He would go then. Right now, and leave Padmé behind. If she didn't want to watch, she could stay.

"I didn't mean you had to—it's not a dare." Padmé looked alarmed.

"I was going anyway," Ani said. He started walking down the street at a determined pace. She could come or not, but she wasn't going to stop him.

"Why is it so important?" Padmé trotted after him. "What does it matter if you wait here for your . . . for Obi-Wan to come back? He might get hurt. You can't possibly want to watch that. I don't want to watch that!"

All of a sudden, Ani felt a rock in his chest. It was hard to breathe around it, and it just made him mad all over again, which was a lot easier than having a rock in his chest.

"If I'm not there, I won't know!" he said turning on her, hating the way his eyes stung. They shouldn't be. He wasn't a baby. He knew better than to waste water. 

But every time Obi-Wan was sent to the pits, Watto gave Ani the day off and he had to wait at home by himself, where all he could think about was that time when they still lived at that Palace and they'd carried Obi-Wan back from the pits and he hadn't opened his eyes for a week. 

"I always get left behind."

"Oh, Ani." Padmé came up to him. She wasn't that much taller, but enough to make him feel little and pathetic, and he pushed that feeling away, too, anger welling up. But it all kind of fell apart when Padmé lightly touched his shoulder. It turned into her pulling him against her, and Ani let her, even though he wasn't hugging her, because he wasn't a baby, and he was still mad. 

"I got left behind too," Padmé said after a minute.

"Then why aren't you mad?" he asked.

She sighed, a big heaving sigh that Ani felt through where they touched. "Because sometimes your job is to wait."

"I'm still going," Ani said, stubbornly. He pushed away from her, ignoring her second sigh, and continued on between the sand-colored apartments. The quarter was pretty empty since everyone was at work except for the little kids, but they were blocks away with Aishass and Grandmother.

"But not till later, maybe? We should at least clean up inside." Padmé followed him.

But he shook his head. He didn't want to think about the stuff he broke. He was going. They had to get there before all the seats filled up.

A string of beeps from behind them made Ani stop and turn. Artoo was trundling after them beeping quickly in Binary, telling them to wait for him.

"What are you doing?" Padmé asked the droid with a frown.

"He wants to come with us," Ani said.

"I gathered that," she replied. "What I don't understand is why."

"Because we're friends! Friends help each other." Ani shot a dark look at her. For all that he liked Padmé, he didn't like how she talked to Artoo. " _He's_ not trying to make me stay."

Padmé sighed. "I'm not trying to make you stay behind," she said. "I just don't think it's a good idea."

"But you're coming anyway," Ani said. She didn't _have_ to, but the rock was still pressing behind his ribs and he held his breath, staring at her boots until she answered.

"Of course, I'm coming."

Ani let out his breath and finally looked up. She still seemed kind of sad, but she was smiling a little too. Her fingers reached out and landed on his shoulder again, a light touch that somehow made it easier for Ani to breathe.

"I'm your friend, Ani," she said. "If you want me to be."

A great rushing relief swept over him. It didn't entirely dislodge the rock, but it loosened. "You're my friend too," he said.

"Okay then," Padmé gave him one of her blindingly pretty smiles. 

Everything suddenly seemed much easier. Ani was going to the arena and he was going to make sure Obi-Wan was okay, and Padmé and Artoo were really his friends and were going with him. Maybe things really would be all right.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the lovely kudos and comments. I'm a little slow at answering them sometimes, but I appreciate every one of them.

"People don't usually die much on the first day," Qui-Gon heard repeated often that morning, as veteran pit fighters reassured the rookies. But after watching five matches end quickly and brutally, and now out in the arena himself and having just barely escaped the snapping jaws of the razorback lunging for him, Qui-Gon was certain it was said in superstitious belief to make it come true. 

He dodged the razorback's sharp tusks, the beast moving much quicker than he'd anticipated.

He rolled across the sand to his feet, the Force guiding his spin and strike with ease so ingrained it was instinct despite his borrowed weapon's limitations. His sword was heavier than he was used to, and its balance was different than that of a lightsaber. It had cost him earlier, but after two matches he had the feel for it, and it struck true, scoring the side of the razorback, making it scream. Qui-Gon pivoted and followed up with an upper-cut strike that sliced through the underside of its throat. The razorback's screams were abruptly cut off and hot blood spattered Qui-Gon's face and clothes. 

It was dead. The cheers from the crowd grew into a great roar, pulsing with such life and emotion that echoed the thrum of adrenaline in Qui-Gon's own body. Life and death were cradled in the palm of the arena floor. He straightened from where he'd bent over his knees and laid a hand on the poor beast he'd killed. "I'm sorry, my friend," he said aloud, though he couldn't hear himself for the noise around him.

He vaguely heard the announcer proclaim the match his, which was his cue to salute the fallen. The crowd took it for acknowledgement of their acclaim. A number of fighters patted his back as he passed back into the staging ring. 

Despite the deadly stakes, many of the mercenaries and slaves were collegial to their fellow fighters. The ones who weren't kept to themselves or intimidated those who crossed their paths, and in a few cases set out to terrify their would-be opponents. They hadn't bothered Qui-Gon, or Obi-Wan from what he could see.

Crossing to the cistern, Qui-Gon drew a dipper of water and drank it down quickly, then another. 

His body was exhausted, and he was more than grateful to be out of the heat of Tatooine's suns. He was no stranger to fighting, and Jedi lightsaber training was certainly strenuous, but Qui-Gon was no longer as young as he once was. Not to mention the heat of the desert streaming through the open-roofed arena was more than he'd been expecting, even after spending several days on the desert planet already. 

He splashed a little water on his face and felt it sting against his arm, where he discovered a long slice from halfway up the back of his forearm to his elbow. It wasn't very deep, but sand had crusted over the blood.

A glance at the medic station showed a long line, so he took one of the protein bars available from the slave attendant with a thanks that was entirely ignored, and went to find a spot at one of the windows to watch the next match. Obi-Wan was in the next group to face the beasts, and he didn't want to miss it.

The first fighter entered to audible cheers from the crowd, but the roar only grew louder when a large, hulking sandtusker emerged from the gates opposite. It hissed and spat as it stepped out of the shadows. It sniffed the air and swiveled its head to face the fighter who was trying to flank it. The match didn't last long—the sandtusker snapped the fighter's spear out of his hands with its mass of teeth, then followed up with a swipe of one claw that sent her sprawling across the arena. She didn't get up. 

The next fighter was sent out, and when he had caught the sandtusker's attention his fight was as short. A pair of droids dragged him out.

The sandtusker bested three more fighters before it was Obi-Wan's turn.

"Entering the arena, Obi-Wan Luckmaker!" The announcer had barely finished speaking before the crowd exploded. 

"They're cheering for that scrawny human?" a siniteen scoffed near Qui-Gon.

"Shows what you know," a grizzled nikto snapped back. "Just you watch. That's the best beast-flayer in Mos Espa."

The siniteen laughed, disbelieving, but none of the other veteran fighters were laughing. They were watching in anticipation of the fight to come. They weren't disappointed, and neither was Qui-Gon.

Obi-Wan held his spear in his right hand and his vibroknife in his left. The sandtusker, angry from its previous fights and ready for fresh blood, charged. But Obi-Wan dodged, faster than the quick slash of its claws. He didn't try to attack, using his spear to fend off strikes that got too close while he dodged and weaved.

"That's not fighting," the siniteen said after a few minutes. "He's a coward! He's not even trying to hit it."

"Oh, I think he's doing more than that," Qui-Gon said, eyes fixed on the fight. 

Obi-Wan led this dance, no doubt about that. He kept the sandtusker turning to the left, keeping its weight on the massive foreleg that was weeping green blood where it had been struck by a previous fighter. When the sandtusker rushed to swipe with its outward facing claw, it didn't quite have the reach at that angle. Obi-Wan darted out of its way and this time countered with an outward spin toward the creature's rear flank. He stabbed at its haunch with his spear and in the same movement ducked and rolled when the creature spun, taking another swipe with its claws.

The sandtusker roared when it missed and reared up and attacked again in earnest. Obi-Wan danced and dodged, going on the attack at every opportunity. He played to his speed and flexibility, leaping and using the sandtusker's size and weight as jumping off points. Each time Obi-Wan struck, he did more damage, and once the sandtusker started favoring its wounded legs, he was relentless.

Qui-Gon was impressed, and not entirely for the same reasons as the crowd in the arena and the fighters watching from below. Earlier, Obi-Wan claimed he'd forgotten how to use the Force, unaware of his own unconscious use of it. But in the arena, the Force positively thrummed around him. The young man had opened himself up to it fully, letting it guide his movement and his strikes. 

What was more, his presence shone as he fought. 

Gone were the doubts and marbled texture that marked his more mundane presence in the Force. Now, Obi-Wan was a warrior in his element, unencumbered by doubt or anger or fear. He was going to win this fight, and he knew it. 

Watching him, Qui-Gon couldn't help but wonder what he'd be like with a lightsaber in his hand, wonder what kind of Jedi he would have made had his path not led him into slavery. If he could have lived a life as he was fighting now, with clarity and purpose, unfettered by all the chains that bound him on Tatooine. 

Qui-Gon had never found it productive to dwell on the past or might-have-been's, but watching Obi-Wan's skill with spear, knife, and the Force against a creature that outweighed him ten-fold, he felt a pang of grief for a life never lived.

He had to help him. He'd promised Obi-Wan he'd find a way to take Anakin from this planet. Promised himself he'd take Obi-Wan too, but now that promise deepened into resolve that Qui-Gon felt settle into his bones. Anakin's raw power was unlike anything Qui-Gon had seen, and after his outburst this morning, he feared that unchecked, Ani would one day reach for the Dark side and succeed in using it. 

Obi-Wan's marbled presence hinted that he'd already touched the Dark, but watching him now, Qui-Gon would never have suspected it—that ability to use and restrict the Dark side, not fall under its thrall, he'd only ever seen before in the most disciplined masters. 

The sandtusker screamed in the arena, a high pitch sound of agony that brought Qui-Gon's thoughts back to the fight in the present. Obi-Wan did not draw out its death, swiftly dealing the final blow. The crowd roared its approval, and Obi-Wan raised his spear to them. 

The fighters cheered him as well when he returned to the staging ring. He accepted the accolades with his head high, touching hands and foreheads with the other slave fighters, clasping forearms or accepting grudging nods from the mercenaries. After that fight he didn't duck his head or suggest anyone look away. 

But when he caught Qui-Gon's eye, he hesitated before squaring his shoulders and coming over. His mental shields returned but not before Qui-Gon caught a spike of doubt and worry, a young man looking for approval he didn't want to need.

Qui-Gon held out his hand. "Well fought," he said with warmth and pride, approval easy to give.

Of all the reactions, he wasn't expecting Obi-Wan to clasp his hand and pull him close to touch their foreheads together. His brow was sweaty and his spiky hair tickled where it brushed Qui-Gon's skin. He was still catching his breath, gradually slowing himself down on each exhale, and Qui-Gon felt him reaching for calm after the elation of his victory. 

Obi-Wan didn't say anything, but he didn't need to. Qui-Gon gripped where Obi-Wan's neck met his shoulder and squeezed tightly, letting him know in the ways that mattered that Qui-Gon had seen him as he was meant to be seen.

They didn't say anything as they broke apart, but a smile twitched around Obi-Wan's lips. Qui-Gon clapped him on the back and steered him toward the cistern and food. The slave attendant whispered something that Qui-Gon couldn't catch, which had Obi-Wan squeezing his hand and the two of them sharing a look between them. Around them, the other fighters' attention had moved on to the next group fighting one by one against the next beast. 

"What's this?" Obi-Wan plucked at Qui-Gon's sleeve above the long cut on his forearm from his own bout. 

"Oh, I meant to get that looked at," Qui-Gon said, and before he knew it, Obi-Wan took hold of his wrist and was dragging him to the medical droid. 

"Better get the sand out now before you get parasites," he said. "Wouldn't want you losing your next fight and not making it to the finals."

"No rest for the victorious?" Qui-Gon quipped.

Obi-Wan snorted. "In the arena, only the next match matters. I'd think that was something you'd embrace, living in the moment."

"Hmm. Well, there's living in the moment and then there's needing to sleep at some point." He winced as the medic droid roughly cleaned the cut. 

"Only the dead sleep well. For the rest of us, the fighting doesn't end," said Obi-Wan, wiping at his face. 

Out in the arena, Qui-Gon heard the next contender die quickly to the boos of the crowd, and he reflected that victory, however spectacular in the pit, was fleeting at best. 

The trick then was getting out of the pit.

"It will end, and not in death," Qui-Gon said, meeting Obi-Wan's eyes. He smiled at the puzzled frown Obi-Wan gave him. "I made a promise, remember?"

From his expression, Obi-Wan clearly remembered, and very carefully, studying Qui-Gon's face as if it held more answers than a simple declaration, he nodded. Qui-Gon would take it.

* * *

The pit fights were worse than Padmé had expected. By the time they arrived and got through the lines to the slave seats, the second round against the beasts had begun. 

She'd thought she'd known what to expect from entertainment holos and political briefings, but nothing had prepared her for the reality of watching fighters and beasts die—their screams, the blood, and worst of all the terrible joy the crowd took in all the deaths. 

Still, not everyone died. Ani explained that, on the first day, falling and not getting up would count as a loss and they'd drag you out, alive. 

Knowing that didn't help when it was Master Jinn rolling out from under the tusks of a boar-like creature that nearly took his arm off. Or worse, Obi-Wan Luckmaker facing a furious armored beast with claws that had torn through five people before he'd somehow managed to take it down. 

But this last round was worst of all. The survivors of the midday rounds were fighting each other now in savage close combat. Neither Master Jinn's group nor Obi-Wan's had entered yet, but already Padmé felt sick.

She wanted to look away, her chest pounding and her skin itching with fear for the poor souls hacking at each other. Some were armored, some were not. Free mercenaries, slaves. Even the ones like Obi-Wan who clearly had had training and were _good_ , were only lightly armored, meant to be easy prey. It was dreadful to watch them be cut down, to know their lives were spent for "entertainment."

Worse, she could feel Ani quivering in his seat beside her. She couldn't tell what he was thinking. He had watched every match and he flinched at every wound, but he wouldn't look away. His small face was blank but his eyes were wide. Padmé feared she'd made a terrible mistake in letting him come. 

When her comm link signaled an incoming message, Padmé grabbed the distraction by both hands. Master Jinn and Obi-Wan were in later groups, so she bent down to yell in Ani's ear over the crowd.

"My ship's calling. I'm going out to answer it." She pointed to the back of their seating area where she could get a little space.

Ani barely glanced at her but he nodded, and so Padmé fought her way out of the press of people.

"This is Padmé," she said into her comm unit as soon as she was far enough away that she could hear herself speak.

"Padmé," an unfamiliar voice replied. "Or should I say, Queen Amidala of Naboo."

The crowd, the arena, the fighting—all of that faded from one breath to the next. A cold sweat broke out over Padmé's skin. She didn't recognize the voice. "Who is this?" she snapped. "Where's Captain Panaka?"

"I have three humans here who all swear they are you," said the being on the other end of what was supposed to be a _secure communications line from inside her ship_. "They are all lying."

Her handmaidens! A buzz of adrenaline flooded her system. Fear, anger and righteous fury crashed through her. Padmé's hands started to shake, but she steeled her voice, which dropped an octave. "If you've touched them—"

"Oh, I assure you, I asked very nicely," the being said. "They are all fully intact. Unlike your ship's crew, which is now composed entirely of dead weight." He chuckled, and Padmé put a hand on the nearby wall to steady herself. She couldn't fall apart now. Her handmaidens—her crew—

"What do you want?"

"It's very simple. I want you. You'll come to no harm. But your lovely doppelgängers will die one by one on each mark of the hour until you return."

Padmé swallowed hard. "They are prepared to die for me."

"Ah. But are you prepared to let them?" the being said darkly. "You have an hour to decide." The connection cut.

Padmé stared at the comm link in her hand, fighting down a sob. She stood in the empty corridor feeling like her insides had been scooped out and put back all wrong. Her mission—her people—the crew—Captain Panaka—Sabé, Rabé, and Eirtaé. They were in the hands of this . . . this . . . She didn't even know, but she knew that the Trade Federation was behind it, and if she didn't stop them—get to Coruscant—get help —

She had to save them. All of them. She couldn't let them be murdered.

Padmé straightened up and dashed the tears from her eyes before they could fall. She took a deep breath and got a hold of herself. She wouldn't turn herself over, no. That would be foolish. She wouldn't dishonor the lives already given to protect her by throwing hers away so cheaply. But she would not allow her people to be used as leverage. And they needed their ship back if they were going to make it to Coruscant. That was the whole point of this detour. The point of the stupid fighting pits, where the Jedi Master who was supposed to protect her people was currently throwing his life away. 

Well, never mind him. He could catch up.

Feeling a little more in control of herself, Padmé hurried back to Ani. Only two fighters were left in the pit. She'd been gone barely five minutes but it felt like a lifetime. 

"Ani!" She tugged on his sleeve, and he turned immediately. "I have to go."

"But Mister Qui-Gon's group is next," he said.

"It doesn't matter. I have to go now." Padmé didn't know what she was going to do exactly to get her ship back. She didn't even know if the being who'd contacted her had others working with them or not. She had to hurry if she was going to cross to the outskirts in less than an hour. She could rent a speeder.

"Go where?" Ani asked, then seemed to really look at her. "Are you okay?" He grabbed at her hand, and Padmé clutched back, grateful for even that small contact. She felt like all the blood was rushing to her head—or away from it.

"Something's happened. Back on my ship. My friends—" Suddenly the enormity of the being's words hit her. The crew was dead. As dead as the fighters in the arena, and then all Padmé could hear in her mind's ear were the screams of the dying, the splatter of their blood on sand as vividly clear, only their uniforms were the painfully familiar ones of home.

"Padmé!" Ani was tugging on her hand now, dragging her back out of the crowd. Once they were clear, he turned his big blue eyes on her, his expression deadly serious. "Your friends are in trouble, aren't they?"

She nodded. He was too smart for his own good.

"We need to help them."

"Yes. Someone's attacked them, and I think the crew is dead and he's going to kill the others in an hour unless I can save them." How, how, her brain raced too fast to think it through. She needed a speeder. She had to hurry.

"Okay." Ani threw one last look at the fighting pit. "I'll come with you."

"No, Ani—"

"You said they're in trouble! And you're really upset! I can help!"

"What about watching Obi-Wan?" she asked. If only he and Master Jinn weren't fighting, she wouldn't be alone.

Ani's face was pinched in a frown but he shook his head at her. "I think he'll be okay. He beat that beast and he's got Mister Qui-Gon with him. They're better off than your friends if we don't help them, right?"

Padmé's heart broke a little, but she nodded. 

That was enough for Ani, it seemed. He grabbed her hand again and headed for the exit. Padmé let him take the lead until they were in the hot sunshine outside the arena. R2-D2 was waiting for them and beeped an inquiry that Padmé couldn't understand and didn't have time for. The quick walk out of the arena had given her thoughts time to slow down, and she needed a plan fast.

"Where's the closest place we can rent a speeder?" she asked. That's what they needed next.

"Probably Tully's, but speeders are expensive, even to rent," Ani said.

"How much, you think?" Padmé reached for the pouch on her belt where her currency was. Ani gave her a worried look.

"A lot more than you have there," he said.

Padmé felt the beginnings of panic grip her. Master Jinn had the balance of their funds. But she had to get out to the ship. "We can't walk! It's too far. It took us over two hours to reach town! He's going to kill one of them. He said he'd kill one of my handmaidens every hour until I showed up. If we don't take a speeder, one of them will die."

When she became Queen, Padmé had understood the risks of becoming her planet's leader. Captain Panaka had trained her as well as her handmaidens in hand-to-hand combat and made them practice on the firing range with their blasters until they could take out a target droid in one shot. She'd understood that one day one of her handmaidens might have to give her life for Padmé's, but she'd never really believed it would happen. Naboo was a peaceful planet. 

"It'll be okay, Padmé," Ani said urgently. "We can take my podracer."

Padmé stared at him. "I thought it wasn't finished."

"It flies!" Ani said. "Come on!" 

It wasn't much of answer but he'd already taken off running back toward the slave quarters. R2-D2 beeped frantically at her, and Padmé had enough presence of mind to tell him, "Stay here. Tell Master Jinn someone has attacked the ship and we've gone to help!" Then she ran after Ani.

Half the time to the first hour deadline was gone by the time Padmé and Ani made it back to the slave quarters. Ani had to find a fuel canister and then spent several precious minutes with his tools on the right-side engine before declaring it ready to go. He flipped on the anti-grav, and it took both of them to shove the pod into the street.

"You're not going to get in trouble, are you?" she asked Ani as he passed her a pair of goggles and he put on his own and a helmet. It was a tight fit, but with Ani on her lap, there was just enough room in the cockpit.

"Watto's at the fights. He won't notice I'm gone till they're done. Hold on." 

Ani hadn't been kidding when he'd said his podracer was fast. Even at its lowest speed when they peeled out of the slave quarter streets, Padmé's stomach leapt to her throat as the pod sped toward building walls and Ani took turns with a handspan of clearance. This was undoubtedly the worst idea she had ever had, but Padmé was committed now, and before she knew it they were out of the streets and into the open desert. Ani kicked the engines into high gear, and the full force of several Gs slammed them back into the seat as they rocketed across the sand.

At speed, Padmé pointed in the direction of the Nubian, and Ani set his compass. Without any landmarks across the flats, the podracer didn't seem as fast, and Padmé found herself urging it on ever faster. It was too loud to talk and her thoughts tumbled over what might be waiting for her when they arrived. Whatever happened, she wasn't turning herself over. She had a blaster and she was trained to use it. The Trade Federation—

Her thought was truncated when the pod abruptly veered to the right, nearly tipping her and Ani out, if not for their straps. Padmé, with her arms wrapped around Ani's middle, screeched in surprise as her heart leapt out of her chest while Ani yelled something and flipped switches and banged on the control panel. One of the engines was dead. Meanwhile the other was at full throttle and the pod zoomed on in the wrong direction, curling back on the way they'd come, tilted like an unstable planet.

"Ani!" Padmé shouted.

"Come on, come on, come on!" Ani flipped more switches and just as suddenly the dead engine sputtered back to life, and they were speeding level to the horizon again. But still going in the wrong direction. Padmé was turned around enough by the spin, but then she caught sight of Mos Espa to their right when it should have been behind them.

"Ani, our course!" she shouted. He banked hard, and they were caught in another G-force as he turned them at a gentler angle than their near miss had.

"Oh no!" Ani pointed off in the direction they had been heading where dust was being kicked up by large beasts. Padmé couldn't hear the rest of what he said, but she got the feeling it was bad. In the distance the Nubian ship appeared on the horizon. They were going to make it she thought, glancing again at the dusty line that was close to the ship and unmistakably heading for the same destination.

The being's companions, or a new threat? Padmé didn't know, and then there was no time to decide, for the Nubian was ahead of them with two dark figures standing in front of it.


	7. Chapter 7

Obi-Wan's body was heavy with exhaustion. The final melée fights had be fast and ferocious against the fighters that survived the beast round. He and the Jedi had been in different groups, but they'd both made it through to the finals that would take place in two days. Obi-Wan was ready to go home and sleep like the dead.

He was not ready to follow the Jedi out of the arena and be assaulted by his frantically beeping droid.

"Slow down!" the Jedi said, raising a calming hand. Despite the request, the droid beeped faster, which did nothing for the terrible feeling coalescing in Obi-Wan's stomach.

He reached out for Ani instinctively—it didn't always work—and felt exhilaration, fear, something else that immediately fled his mind when the droid—Artoo, a memory in Ani's voice—displayed a small blue hologram in front of Qui-Gon. It was of Padmé running away from Artoo. _"Stay here. Tell Master Jinn someone has attacked the ship and we've gone to help!"_

The bad feeling was replaced with cold, sick dread. 

The Jedi immediately pulled out his comm link and tried to get in touch with the girl. Obi-Wan looked about them, trying to see if anyone was watching them—or if anyone had seen the hologram and recognized what Obi-Wan had in that short message. Only Padmé had been visible, but she'd said _we_.

He couldn't be that stupid, Obi-Wan thought desperately, because Ani absolutely could be that stupid. Loyal to a fault, he wanted to help everyone, and when that someone was a girl who'd turned his head, who was kind and strong, who wanted to help her people, too?

"You have to go after them," he told Qui-Gon, standing close so they wouldn't be overheard. "Now. You have to bring Ani back here."

"If someone has attacked the ship, I could use help," the Jedi said pocketing his comm. He was already moving and glanced over in surprise when Obi-Wan didn't follow.

"I _can't_ ," Obi-Wan said harshly, hating the Jedi for freedom he didn't think twice about. He watched understanding twist to horror as the Jedi realized what he meant. "If Ani's crossed the city limits, he's a runaway and he won't have much time," Obi-Wan said anyway, to make sure the point stuck. "You have to go now. Hurry." 

Obi-Wan clutched for any sense of Ani in the Force, but panic had already made his tenuous control slip, and his sense of Ani was gone. 

He heard a yell from up ahead, from the crowd of free beings who were still streaming out of the arena, making good on bets, placing new ones for the finals. Both Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan would be returning to fight in them, in competition for the prize money. 

Money Obi-Wan could care less about at that moment.

"Obi-Wan Luckmaker!" Watto's rough voice cut through his soul like a knife. It was already too late.

"Go!" he shouted at the Jedi. He didn't wait to see if he went, but he heard Artoo's bleeps and the whirs of his servos as he turned to face Watto.

"Master," he said evenly, ducking his head in respect even as he crushed his fear into a ball and shoved it deep. He got ahold of himself and breathed evenly, innocently. He'd just gotten out of the staging ring. He'd been there all day. He wasn't supposed to know the Jedi or Padmé or anything about what Ani had gotten up to while he'd been fighting.

Watto hovered in front of him, his face twisted in a snarl as he shook something in his fist in Obi-Wan's face. "You knew of this!"

"Knew what?" Obi-Wan kept breathing, glancing from Watto's face to his hands as if trying to see what he held, even though he could guess. 

Watto didn't keep him in suspense. He opened his palm so Obi-Wan could see the slave control stick, a slim cylinder with four buttons beneath four lights. Only two were lit. One of the lights was green, the other red. Flashing.

Obi-wan felt faint with relief and, without a second thought, he folded to his knees and pressed his forehead to the sand. "He can't have gone on purpose. Please, please, master. I swear I didn't know. I was in the ring, winning my fights for you. I left Ani at home, but I know he would never intentionally run. Never. Never in a thousand years."

He hoped, he prayed. Watto had every right to push that button, but maybe, maybe. 

A crowd was starting to gather around them—Obi-Wan could feel their eyes watching the scene. He tuned them out. He'd been humiliated far worse for far less and if it stayed Watto's hand he'd take it and more.

"Please, he's your cleverest worker. He wouldn't run. Someone might have tried to steal him, but he wouldn't run. He loves working in your workshop." Obi-Wan was babbling, and lying, and hoping Watto heard what he wanted to hear. His master was hard to sway but he'd never been especially cruel, by Tatooine standards, and he valued Ani. Watto liked the work he did, the races he could enter, the money to be made off of him.

"Come!" Watto was still angry, and he flew off, the crowd parting for him. 

Obi-Wan scrambled to his feet after him. After three bouts in the ring, his whole body ached. His muscles were stiff, one of his knees had taken a bad fall and it radiated sharp pain with every step. He had cuts on his forearms, one nasty slice on his back that pulled when he moved despite the sealant the med droid had applied, and his skin was salty where sweat had evaporated straight from his body.

And somewhere inside his messy flesh was the same chip that Ani had in his body. That Watto could detonate in an instant.

Please, please, please.

"If he wasn't stolen, he won't have gone far. I'm sure he didn't mean to cross the line, master," Obi-Wan said once he'd caught up and he saw where they were going. "He's a boy and he can be thoughtless. I'm sure he's on his way back now. He wouldn't miss supper. He wouldn't risk getting caught in the desert. He's coming back. He has projects he wants to finish. He's started building a podracer so he can race for you. He loves when you allow him to race."

"Yes, he is coming back." Watto spun on Obi-Wan, who kept his eyes on the sand like a good slave. "One way or another!" They'd reached the bounty office, and Obi-Wan knelt in the sand outside, while Watto went inside. 

He breathed. Smoothly, in and out to a count older than the Jedi had taught him. _In with the wind, out with the night, in with the wind, out out of sight_. It didn't do much for the panic he felt inside, but it was enough to steady him. This was good. This was good. Watto hadn't pushed that button. He was posting a notice. He was a businessman, but not so successful that he'd be able to afford to replace Ani with someone else as talented. Obi-Wan was muscle and a body reliable enough to bet on in the pits, but Ani had the gift of machines, like his mother. 

This was good. There was a chance.

Obi-Wan breathed and kept his outward face calm, pleasant. Just a loyal slave, he was. Depur liked loyal slaves. Depur trusted loyal slaves, though not too much. Ekkreth would protect Ani. Maybe by the time the Jedi reached them he'd have thought of a way to spirit him aboard their ship, get him away from the surface, get the implant out before it timed out. 

The controller had been flashing. Flashing was good. Flashing was still in range. Obi-Wan breathed and kept everything else, all his terror and desperation, the bad feeling that persisted in his chest, turned his stomach—all that he pushed down and back where it wouldn't interfere with his calm façade.

And beneath all of that, he clung to the bright bursts of emotion that were Ani, out there, alive, alive, alive.

* * *

Ani stayed in the podracer's cockpit when Padmé went to face the terrifying being who had her friend. He wore a long black cloak with a hood that hid part of his face, and held a long cylinder in his free hand that looked like maybe an inactive vibroblade. Or a lightsaber. 

As soon as he thought it, Ani felt everything around them get more intense, and even though his heart was racing and he was ready to gun it on the pod, he felt like he was staring into a nightmare that he couldn't wake from. 

But that was stupid. He was definitely awake. And he was not impressed with the being who thought he could hurt Padmé's friends and get away with it. He scowled. Being afraid was for babies.

Padmé wasn't afraid. Okay, she was, Ani could tell, but she wasn't letting it stop her. She walked forward a handful of steps with her head held high and her blaster held ready at her side.

"Let her go," she said clearly and calmly, command in every note of her voice. 

"So good of you to join us, your Majesty," said the being.

Majesty! Ani's eyes snapped to Padmé's back, eyes going wide. She was the Queen? The Queen she'd said she worked for?

"I am here to negotiate the release of my people. I want to see all of them," said Padmé.

"You are hardly in a position to negotiate," said the being. "You're alone, with whatever pilot you managed to scrounge up? What happened to your Jedi?"

"He's alerting the planetary authorities. They're on their way now."

"This is Tatooine, your Majesty. If the 'planetary authorities'," he said, with clear knowledge that there were none, "knew you were here, they'd be selling you to me as fast as they could." 

He shook his hood back from his face revealing horns like a zabrak's and fearsome red and black markings. But worst of all were his eyes. They were yellow and they seemed to glow from his face.

"You will come with me, Queen Amidala. Your followers can either be alive or dead when you do." He shook the woman he held by the back of the neck. She staggered, her orange robes catching under her boots as she tried to keep her feet. 

Ani felt it before he saw it, how her sudden loss of balance pulled the zabrak off-balance, just for a moment, but then Padmé was firing her blaster, and the zabrak's cylinder was a lightsaber! A red one! But Padmé's friend had rolled away and was scrambling to her feet to run. 

The zabrak's attention was all on Padmé. He charged toward her, and Ani didn't think twice. "Duck!" he shouted, firing up the engines and opening the throttle. 

Padmé threw herself at the ground and Ani sped the pod alongside the ship right into the zabrak—who jumped out of the way into a backflip to the top of the Nubian. Ani cut the bad engine and did a pinpoint turn to get back to Padmé. She was blasting the zabrak again, but he deflected the bolts with his lightsaber. 

He was going to jump down! Ani had to get Padmé out of there! 

When the zabrak did jump, Ani managed to get the pod to Padmé first, blasting up sand as he pulled the pod into a near stop. "Get on!" he shouted at her, and hit the throttle again as soon as she got a handhold.

"Ani, no!" He got them away from the zabrak who was running after them, slowing enough when they had some distance for Padmé to scramble into the cockpit behind him, fumbling for the straps. "We have to get Eirtaé!"

"She's fine!" Ani knew she was fine. She'd gotten away. The zabrak was after Padmé, not her friend. He'd follow them. And Ani knew just where to take him.

The desert rushed past at high speed, faster than the zabrak could run, but a glance in his rearview mirror told Ani that that wasn't going to matter for long. He'd called a single seat speeder from where it had been hidden behind the ship, and soon he was racing along after them. He wouldn't be able to catch up to the pod, but he wasn't abandoning the chase either.

"Where are we going?" Padmé yelled into Ani's ear over the sound of the rushing wind. The sand of the desert stretched before them, but the banthas they'd seen on their approach were closing fast.

Ani pointed at them. "Sand people!" 

He couldn't see if Padmé understood his plan—or if she'd even heard him in the wind. The raiders had probably been watching the ship for a while, left on the outskirts for so long. They'd draw the zabrak after them—and avoid the rifle blasts the tuskens were already firing at them! 

Ani dodged, weaving the pod back and forth on pure instinct. Padmé's hands tightened around his waist as they jerked one way then the other. Ani's plan was simple: when they were close enough, they'd veer off, leaving the tuskens to pick off the zabrak before he knew what hit him.

They were almost to the point where Ani wanted to veer off, when abruptly his starboard engine cut out. Again! Frantically, he flipped the toggle, but nothing. It was sputtering, the hasty hack he'd made in place of a stabilizer wasn't taking a signal, and now the rifle blasts were hitting them! The pod was going into a spin, and nothing Ani did could control it.

"Hang on!" he yelled, screamed, grateful Padmé was with him as the desert floor reared up in front of them. Ani had crashed before, and he braced his hands in front of his face, sheltering himself and Padmé from the spray of sand and twisted metal that used to be his pod's engines as they exploded around them in a great shower of heat and debris. The sudden stop made the seat straps cut painfully across Ani's chest, and his head collided with Padmé's behind him hard enough to make his eyesight black over for a second.

She yelled, loud in the sudden absence of engines and wind, but they didn't have time to collect themselves. Right in front of them were four tusken raiders on their banthas, charging toward them, their aut-aut-aut cries from out of a hundred stories Ani had grown up with, few of them with happy endings.

"We've gotta—" He scrambled out of the cockpit, reaching for Padmé. Her nose was bleeding, two trails of blood dripping either side of her mouth. She was dazed, but she grabbed Ani's hand and in her other she still held the blaster.

"Cover. Duck," she gasped, pushing him to the ground beside the hull of the pod. The metal siding had ruptured at the nose and a ripple had shuddered through the metal. It was hot to the touch, but that was probably as much heat from the afternoon suns as the crash. 

Ani pulled the cuffs of his sleeves down to cover his hands. For the moment they were hidden, and all he could do was stare at the wreck of his pod that he'd spent over a year putting together, a lump gathering in his throat. But they had bigger things to worry about, trapped with the tuskens ahead of them on the other side of their cover and the zabrak bearing down on their exposed backs. No pod meant no way to escape and no way home.

Ani glanced up, his heart beginning to race once more in dread as he took note of the time. It'd be dark in less than two hours and without the pod he wouldn't be able to make it home before Watto noticed he was missing. If he hadn't already—which he must not have because Ani was still alive and not an exploded mess, just like his pod.

Blaster fire striking the front side of the pod dislodged that worry however, the noise shocking him back into the moment. The tuskens let up a cry and the blaster fire subsided. Padmé's took the chance to lean out the side and return fire. 

Ani looked behind him toward the Nubian to see where the zabrak was, but it wasn't easy through the kicked up sand and debris. The faulty right engine had snapped off when they plowed into the sand, ending up ten or so meters behind the cockpit. Ani had to lean out to see around it. The zabrak on his single-seat speeder was bearing down on them fast.

"Get back!" Padmé yanked him hard and nearly simultaneously blaster fire shot past where his head had just been. Padmé dragged him around the back of the pod's cockpit, both of them scrambling for footing in the sand. The tuskens had flanked them, and they huddled down as another barrage hammered at their meager cover. 

They barely had time to catch a breath before the zabrak closed the distance. He leapt from his speeder and did a summersault in the air before landing not ten meters away, his red lightsaber igniting when his feet hit the ground. He spun and swung, deflecting the tuskens' rifle fire as he stalked closer.

Ani had a terrified moment to think he didn't need to worry about Watto killing him after all, before Padmé was on her knees in front of him, protecting him, firing her blaster, until the zabrak raised his hand and the blaster was wrenched away, flying far out of reach in the sand.

Ani didn't know he could love someone so much, but in that moment Padmé pushed to her feet and grabbed the nearest length of metal she could, a scorching structural support that had braced one of the engines to the cockpit before it had been sheared off. She hissed as she closed her hands around it but held on despite the hot metal turning her hands pink. She stood tall and strong and uncowed, like Leia the Mighty, and shouted defiantly, "You won't take us alive!" a cry as fierce and determined as any dragon's.

The zabrak laughed, but Padmé didn't falter. Ani pushed forward to stand beside her. He searched for something to fight with too, and settled for shattered pod debris that he hurled at the zabrak with a yell. Unfortunately, the zabrak just sliced them out of his way with his lightsaber with dismaying ease. 

The whine of a new engine was the only warning—it happened so fast, but Ani saw it all—a speeder crashing amidst the tuskens, the zabrak's red lightsaber arcing toward Padmé's length of metal, a white blur spinning in from overhead—a green lightsaber halting its decent.

Mister Qui-Gon had come to save them.

* * *

The red lightsaber shuddered against Qui-Gon's green one, the hiss and crackle of energy familiar in its strength and the resistance that shuddered through his muscles, even as everything else about the duel set off his internal alarms: the red blade as he countered the overhead strike, the pulse of darkness in the Force that spoke of concentrated control fueled by rage as he parried another furious exchange. 

He set the implications aside when the Dark-user spun into his next attack with speed, needing his mind on the here and now. He opened himself up to the Living Force, which hummed through him, an extension of his arms, his legs, his soul as he flipped and dodged, leading the Dark-user away from the younglings.

At one with the Force, Qui-Gon felt them hurrying away. The tusken raiders had scattered, scared off by his speeder careening amongst them. The Nubian ship was several kilometers away, but visible on the horizon.

The Dark-user redoubled his attack.

Qui-Gon blocked, giving ground. He pushed all thoughts of others away. There was only him and his opponent. There was only his blade and his opponent's and the Force between them. 

Even so, the strain was difficult. He pushed aside all thoughts of his fatigue from a day of fighting. He had fought long duels before. The Force had supported him then as it would now.

Back and forth the duel went. Spins, turns, and the clash of their weapons. An even match of two master swordsmen. From that alone, Qui-Gon knew with calm certainty where this fight would lead, given his fatigue. They were too well matched. His greater experience was balanced by the zabrak's youth and speed. He had to end this sooner rather than later.

The desert was a terrible place for improvisation, and no sooner did he think that when he heard his name—"Master Jinn!"—and the galumph of a galloping beast. A bantha was bearing down on them. Qui-Gon and the Dark-user separated as the panicked animal closed in, and not far behind were Padmé and Anakin in the speeder, racing toward him. 

Qui-Gon leapt, flipped into the air, and landed on the back of the speeder, his weight making it waver dangerously. But Anakin stayed the course.

Over his shoulder, Qui-Gon watched as the Dark-user slaughtered the bantha. Now he was running after them, but slightly toward Anakin's crashed podracer where another single-seat speeder waited. No doubt he'd be in pursuit soon enough, but Qui-Gon would take what lead he could. 

He slid into his speeder's back seat, leaning forward to see if the young ones were hurt. Padmé's nose was bleeding, and they both had cuts, some of them deep, many of them superficial, along with red and aggravated skin from burns. 

Reaching with the Force told him little more, because Ani's fear drowned out all else. But it was controlled enough. They were both alert and fighting despite the fear.

"Who was that!?" Padmé spun to half-face Qui-Gon.

"I don't know," he replied. He steadied his breathing. They weren't out of danger yet. There would be time to think on their mysterious opponent later.

"He's gaining on us!" Padmé said, turning to Ani, who opened the throttle. The engine whined in a way that did not sound promising.

"This is as fast as it goes," the boy said. The windshield was partially broken, making Qui-Gon's eyes tear up in the wind. Anakin wore goggles, and kept them steady. 

They were almost at the Nubian ship. 

A lone figure in the orange-red robe of the Queen's handmaidens was at the exterior control panel, frantically trying to get the ramp to extend. She turned when she heard them approaching, shouting words he couldn't hear for the wind. He didn't need to in order to understand the situation, however. She was locked out. Qui-Gon wished he'd brought the astromech with him.

Behind them the presence of the Dark-user was like a shadow on the land. He had indeed gained ground when Qui-Gon looked back, sending dust up in his wake. Another dust cloud was rushing toward them from the city, but whoever they were, they would be little help and probably too late.

"Can you get into the ship?" he asked Anakin.

"We have to, so I will," Ani replied.

"Then do it. I'll give you as much time as I can," Qui-Gon said, readying himself to jump as soon as Ani pulled them into a one-eighty for a hard deceleration with their own engines. As soon as he felt the speeder hit zero velocity he jumped into the air assisted by the Force into a summersault that put him between the ship and the Dark-user.

The zabrak jumped off his speeder a beat after him, sending the vehicle in a wide arc with a pull of the Force straight at Qui-Gon. He deflected, slicing the speeder in two to either side of him. Then he leapt and their lightsabers clashed once more. 

The fight was as fast and furious as their previous bout. 

Qui-Gon, with a better sense of his opponent now, battered him back, away from the ship, pulling sand with the Force into a whirling spiral and throwing it into the Dark-user's face. It was a trick that would work only once, as the grains not in his direct path whipped around to smatter in his eyes. It barely slowed the Dark-user down, but it did put him on his back foot, and that was all Qui-Gon needed to press his advantage.

That advantage didn't last long, however. Qui-Gon was hard pressed to deflect and block his counter-attack, a ferocious exchange that left him scrambling as he hadn't all day in the fighting pits. Qui-Gon couldn't falter, however, as much as his muscles screamed at him, as close as that red lightsaber came to slicing his shoulder, the smell of his own long hair singed in its wake.

Blaster fire, of all things, was his reprieve. The cloud of dust from the city resolved into approaching speeders. The Dark-user flipped away, and Qui-Gon followed, chasing him around the back of the ship, away from the blaster fire. If he was making a run for it, Qui-Gon was going to give chase. He couldn't let him circle around to Padmé and Anakin. Above all he had to keep him occupied until they had access to the ship again.  
"Padmé!" Anakin's shout from amidst the blaster fire on the other side of the ship was a scream of terror, and it sliced through Qui-Gon's awareness. 

Qui-Gon's concentration was battered by the wave of fear emanating from the boy. In that moment of hesitation, the Dark-user lashed out. Qui-Gon didn't counter fast enough—he blocked the red saber blade but the tip slid past his guard and sliced into Qui-Gon's upper arm with searing pain. His Force-driven reactions let him twist away in time—he still had his arm, the damage glancing. 

But the hot burst of pain threw him off enough for the Dark-user's kick to his chest to send him flying backwards, toward the back of the ship.

Through the pulsing of his blood and the Force and the sudden dislocation of being thrown, Qui-Gon lost his center. He'd skidded far enough beyond the ship's tail to see the chaos around the now-down ramp where he'd left Ani, Padmé, and her handmaiden, the latter disappearing into the ship. Blaster fire from a handful of circling speeders, shouting voices in guttural Huttese, Ani scrambling to someone on the ground, bounty hunters tumbling onto the sand in pursuit, the hum of the Nubian's engines as they pulsed to life. He saw it all in the swirl of a moment, felt it in an instant of time held in eternity within the Living Force. 

And over-shadowing it all, between on breath and the next, the zabrak running toward him. 

Qui-Gon expected the Dark-user to finish him—was already rolling to his feet—but the zabrak merely gave him another shove through the Force and ducked under the belly of the ship to take on the new arrivals. The Dark-user killed three of the roughly outfitted bounty hunters, while another half-dozen dragged Padmé and a struggling Anakin into a speeder and sped off, making for Mos Espa as fast as they could. 

The zabrak made an aborted move to follow, but the rest of the bounty hunters were firing on the Dark-user, forcing him to retreat. He deflected their shots, backing up toward the ship's ramp. 

The whole scene unfolded in less than a minute, Qui-Gon too far away and too battered to intervene quickly enough.

He'd scrambled to his feet, his wounded arm and bruised chest both throbbing in time with his heartbeat. Qui-Gon put on a burst of speed—he couldn't let the Dark-user escape—but he wasn't fast enough, slowed by the bounty hunters turning their blaster fire on him before speeding away. His brief hope that the handmaiden at least would be able to take-off and escape was dashed when the zabrak reached the ramp and ran inside just a few moments before the ship shuddered to life. 

The engines' hum became a deafening roar as a blast of heat and air from the sub-lights sent sand jetting out behind it as it lifted off. It wobbled again, rocking back and forth for a moment before steadying and shooting off through the atmosphere.

Qui-Gon stared after it, breathing hard. 

He was too late. The scent of exhaust and his own burned flesh mingled with the despair that opened up within him as he felt the simultaneous diminuendo of the presence of the Dark-user on the ship with his hostages, and Anakin's bright star, twisted with anger and above all fear, speeding back to Mos Espa.

He'd failed. He'd failed the Queen, her people on that ship, Obi-Wan whom he'd left behind, and Anakin, bright, powerful, young Anakin, on his way back to his master.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a content warning for violence and harm to a child. See the end note for details. No one dies.

Obi-Wan scrambled to his feet as soon as the workshop door cracked open and Watto fluttered in. He stood, his whole body one anxious nerve as his master came to hover above him. He kept his gaze on Watto's feet, one twisted and lame, the other withered from when his master decided to stop walking altogether. Wingbeats at a hundred beats per second made the only sound between them.

Obi-Wan had a hundred questions banging up behind his teeth, but he dared not speak before Watto. 

He'd spent each passing hour last night on his knees at Watto's side telling his master how Ani hadn't meant to cross the boundary, he'd been so excited about finishing the F-series droid repairs, the work Watto allowed him to do on the speeder refurbishment, a dozen other projects that Ani spent his time on, that Obi-Wan was useless at and that would make Watto profits.

He'd talked until the suns had set and Watto had thrown in him into the workshop in bad humor. 

Now it was morning. Obi-Wan hadn't slept. Hadn't eaten. Hadn't been able to feel Ani for hours now. It was only a lifetime of beatings and the control stick Watto had at his belt that kept him quiet. He stared at Watto's feet like a good slave. He wasn't going to give him a reason to depress any buttons.

"Have I not been a good master, Obi-Wan Luckmaker?" Watto asked at last in Huttese.

"Yes, master," Obi-Wan said immediately in the same language. "You're a generous master. We couldn't have better," he said, because it was what Watto wanted to hear. It helped that it was mostly true, and Obi-Wan easily hid from his voice the depths of his hatred for that fact. By Mos Espa standards, Watto was a paragon of masters.

"I'm merciful too," Watto said with a sharp jab of his finger to the top of Obi-Wan's head.

"Most merciful," Obi-Wan said. He dared raise his eyes, though not his head, enough to try and see the lights on the control stick, but they weren't visible.

"That boy is willful. I've let him get away with too much. He must learn, like you have. Though I'm disappointed you have failed to teach him how things work around here."

"I did my best, master." Obi-Wan locked his knees, feeling relief so profound rush through him that he had to remind himself to breathe, too. Alive. Alive, alive, alive. Obi-Wan mentally sent a prayer of thanks to Ekkreth, patron god of fools and hopeful boys both.

"He has one more chance. You understand?" Watto's warm breath stank as he leaned in close, a fleck of spit landing on Obi-Wan's cheek. "No more words from you will save him a second time."

"Yes, master." Obi-Wan sank to his knees, feeling his bruises ache when they landed on the hard floor of the workshop once more. "You won't regret it. I promise. I promise."

He would promise a thousand thousand promises for Ani to come back to him alive.

Watto grunted, his skepticism weighted in the sound. But he told Obi-Wan to get up and follow him. 

The suns were barely above the horizon, brighter than the narrow workshop windows allowed them to be, and Obi-Wan squinted, wishing for his head scarf. He was in yesterday's blood-spattered fighting clothes, armor left behind somewhere with the scarf in the madness. His shoulders and thighs ached, stiff from his sleepless night spent trying and failing to meditate. When he'd lost his sense of Ani, he'd panicked, stretching his senses as far as he could, but all he'd been able to feel was nauseating emptiness. 

Now, following Watto into the streets of Mos Espa, he pulled his overworn senses close. He felt too unsteady, had too many unanswered questions—if Ani had been caught, what of the Jedi and Padmé? He couldn't ask about them; it might be better not to know the answer.

His unsteadiness only intensified as Watto led them toward the great square where the bounty office was. The streets were more crowded than usual for the hour. Merchants, bounty hunters, gossips, hawkers. All were turned out and walking in the same direction. 

And trailing behind every depur was a slave whose eyes flickered to Obi-Wan, whose hands were held in front of them, index fingers crooked and interlocked like broken links in a chain that nevertheless were still bound together. Word of a runaway would have traveled faster than the wind over the Dune Sea. Word of who, even faster. 

Obi-Wan forced himself to keep his eyes open. Forced himself to raise his chin, where Watto couldn't see. Forced himself to breathe.

Even knowing what was waiting in the square didn't prepare him for how crowded it already was. The cantinas were open and the alcohol was flowing among the slave catchers and bounty hunters. The same crowd that had paid to watch the fights was here to watch with even greater excitement. 

Obi-Wan took it all in as the crowd parted for Watto. And then, like a punch to the gut, he saw Ani.

He ran two steps past Watto before someone caught him by his arms and pulled him up short. Watto was yelling at him but Obi-Wan didn't hear. He opened himself up to the Force and felt too much to distinguish amongst the high emotion of the assembled beings, but there in the center, Ani's distinct signature—afraid, defiant, afraid.

He turned at the touch of Obi-Wan's mind, "Oba!" he cried, the name for Obi-Wan that he'd left behind years and years ago. He stood with his hands bound near the pillars in the center of the square, dwarfed between a pair of slave catchers from the bounty office. One of them slapped Ani on the back of the head hard enough to send him to his knees.

"Ani!" But Obi-Wan was held fast, and it wasn't until he felt the strap on his own shoulders—one crack, stinging, sharp—that he pulled back to himself. The Hutts' bounty manager had met Watto at the entrance to the square, and his people were holding Obi-Wan back.

"Should we string him up too?" the manager asked, eyeing him.

"He'll watch. He has to fight tomorrow." Watto gave Obi-Wan a glare. His fingers curled around the control stick at his belt. "Though he'd do well to remember than I'm a merciful master."

Swallowing hard, Obi-Wan nodded and ducked his head. He wouldn't do anyone any good, least of all Ani, if he fought back now. There was a time and place for resistance, the elders taught them. A time and place for endurance. Ani needed him to be strong.

As Ani's master, Watto took pride of place near the pillars. Obi-Wan, released from the manager's guards, followed. He locked his gaze on Ani and didn't look away from his boy's frightened face, not even when he knelt at Watto's side twenty paces away, taking a moment to breathe—really breathe, the way he'd learned in the Palace, the way the Jedi had shown him, two means to the same end. 

Obi-Wan had to let go of his own fear if he was to be Ani's strength. 

He held Ani's gaze through the manager announcing his trespasses to the crowd and praising the mercy of his master who had chosen not to kill him but rather let him learn from his mistakes. Obi-Wan breathed out, rooting himself to the desert through the sand beneath his knees. 

"Strength now, Anakin," he whispered in their own language, the language of the slaves that like them, endured. The manager declared the agreed upon sentence and the crowd cheered its approval. But Ani caught the shape of his lips and firmed his own mouth. 

Obi-Wan didn't look away when the slave catchers loosed Ani's hands to pull off his tunic and the loosely woven string shirt underneath with his japor snippets tied around the collar. He didn't look away when they bound his hands around the pillar. 

Ani was so small, skin and bones without his tunic, too young, too brave, too big a heart that this world was trying to crush. 

"Strength now," Obi-Wan repeated a little louder, for the both of them when Ani's eyes screwed shut. The taller of the two slave catchers cracked his whip to the side, a practice swing that cut through the air, halting conversations for a moment before the murmurs began again. 

Obi-Wan stretched out his senses, pushed away his fear to the sands, and gathered what was offered from his people, watching with their heads bowed and fingers curled. He breathed out and reached to Anakin with control that had eluded him since he'd discovered him gone. He offered his boy all that he had. 

The strength of a bantha, the endurance of a desert wolf, the courage of a mighty dragon. And suffused within all that, the conviction of his people that Ani would survive this. 

Obi-Wan felt a tentative brush against his own mind—bright, scared—and he grasped back, cradling Ani's presence against him with all the love and pride he'd felt for him since the day he was born.

The whip cracked—Ani screamed—pain, stinging, then searing red hot in a single stripe. Obi-Wan felt it as surely as if it had struck his own back. He didn't take his eyes from Ani, who was crying now, who screamed again when the second lash fell. Obi-Wan wished their places were reversed, but he set aside the rest, breathed so Ani would breathe—gasping, sobbing—screaming when the third lash fell, cutting across the top two marks like a line of fire. 

Obi-Wan held on when Ani's presence slipped, trying to do what the Jedi had done so easily, send strength and love and above all the certainty that it would be over soon.

"Strength now," he repeated, as much in his own head as aloud. The crowd, the square, their people forced to watch as a warning to them and their kin, all of that fell away as Obi-Wan sat in this moment in time with Ani, and held on.

The fourth lash landed and Ani's legs gave out, and the fifth landed mercifully quickly after that. The sand beneath Ani spotted brown with blood, and he keened, a high pained sound that tore at Obi-Wan's heart where his own blood pounded furiously.

He waited. At last he sensed Watto's nod, and the bounty manager raised his staff declaring the punishment fulfilled.

Obi-Wan was on his feet and rushing over to Ani as soon as the slave catchers unbound him from the pillar, taking his boy into his arms carefully, so carefully, feeling his beating heart pressed against his own. One hand at the back of Ani's head, the other wrapped around his legs, he held him close, burying his face in Ani's hair, inhaling the sweat and sun and blood on his skin.

"Oba, Oba," Ani was crying, exhausted, small hands clutching at Obi-Wan's shirt, his voice nothing but pain.

Obi-Wan was crying too. "I'm here. I'm here," he said over and over again. "I've got you. It's done. I'm here."

* * *

Padmé held her head high. She wasn't going to break down, not in front of the repugnant beings who had dragged her out here, hands bound, to watch Ani be . . . 

Padmé had to close her eyes when it was finally over and Obi-Wan had gathered Ani up in his arms. She swallowed down the lump in her throat and willed the wetness in the corner of her eyes to no more than dampen her eyelashes, but nothing could assuage her guilt.

It was her fault. All of it. She'd forgotten about Ani's tracker. 

She had only cared about her own people, whom she hadn't even been able to see freed. Eirtaé made it, she reminded herself. Eirtaé had gotten up the ramp after Ani sliced through the hatch controls. Padmé had almost made it too, but then—

Padmé was yanked from her thoughts by the chain looped through her binders. The sharp tug from her captor, a foul-smelling being of a species that she'd never seen before with tusks and black eyes, sent fire through her shoulder where the day before a blaster bolt had caught her. It had knocked her off the ramp—Ani had yelled and run to help her. They'd both been caught.

"Lucky for you you'll fetch a better price with unmarred skin." The slave catcher said to her in heavily accented Basic accompanied by a shower of spit.

"I'm a free person," Padmé said through gritted teeth. They'd at least cleaned and bandaged her wound, even if it was only so she'd live long enough to be auctioned off.

The slave catcher laughed, tugging on the chain again and forcing Padmé to scramble to her feet or be dragged. "You forfeited freedom when you tried to help that boy escape. You don't cross the Hutts' law on Tatooine without paying for it." His lips stretched across his face in a grotesque grin. "And I'm going to get paid, too."

With no choice but to follow, Padmé soon found herself once more locked up in a cage in the back of bounty central. Lowlifes of all species crowded into the front room, and Padmé tried her best to tune out their excitement as they argued over wanted posters. 

The coup of capturing her and Ani had apparently reinvigorated the chase for Mos Espa's bounty hunters. It was appalling to listen to and did nothing but reinforce how thoughtless she'd been. How stupidly careless. And now Ani had paid the price.

And soon so would she.

Out of sight in her small little cell, Padmé finally let her stern facade crumble as she pressed her face into the cool stone wall, her back to the doorway. She inhaled sharply, careful not to make a sound as her face twisted into a silent sob that shook her shoulders and her soul to her core. 

It had all gone so wrong, and she'd been so stupid. Her handmaidens were her bodyguards, and they would die in her place. They'd sworn an oath to, yes. But they were her friends too, and once she'd heard the crew was dead . . . Captain Panaka and Ric Olié had been with her since the beginning of her term, showing her the ins and outs of her own household. Teachers both of them, as well as protectors, and they had died for her.

Padmé's heart felt torn to shreds. And there wasn't anything she could do about it now.

For a moment, she let her hopelessness overtake her, let her tears of self-pity fall. She'd tried, and failed, and she'd never make it to Coruscant now. What good could she do her people, if she couldn't even keep her retainers safe? She couldn't even keep herself together when she should be thinking of a solution. Even crying was a waste of water on this desert planet.

After a few minutes her heaving chest eased and her tears slowed. Her nose was stuffed up, but while her head felt heavy, her thoughts were also a little clearer. Padmé wiped at her eyes and took long slow, deep breaths. 

She knew better than this. Giving up was a sure way to lose. So after a few more shaky breaths, she tucked away her fear and focused on what came next. There had to be a way out of this. She couldn't fail her people, not again. She just didn't know how to go about it. Escaping slavers wasn't exactly something covered in the Young Legislators program.

The outer door clanged open, and Padmé hastily tried to make herself as put together as she could. Considering that she was filthy and had nothing in the cell with her, she didn't have much to work with, but by the time her visitor arrived on the other side of the bars, Padmé was sitting with her legs crossed, calm and composed. It didn't matter she was to be sold, she wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing her cowed. She would not be beaten by these lowlifes.

It wasn't a lowlife that stepped up to her cell, however, but a haggard-looking Master Jinn.

Padmé hid her immediate reaction to the Jedi. He looked terrible. His clothes were torn and stained with blood from yesterday's pit fights and from the fight in the desert. His entire right sleeve of his tunic was a reddish brown where it didn't gape open at his upper arm. A strip of cloth underneath bound a wound on his bicep. His hair was singed on one side, and he'd lost the poncho he'd been wearing. 

But what really scared Padmé was how sunburned his face was and how drawn his cheeks. He looked exhausted, and Padmé definitely didn't like how he leaned against the bars of the cell.

"You're all right?" he asked, his deep baritone raspy but firm.

Padmé let out the breath she'd been holding. She nodded. "Are you?"

Master Jinn smiled a little but it held no humor. "It was a long night after a long day."

She pushed herself to her feet, mindful of her shoulder, knowing she was caught when Master Jinn frowned at her.

"That doesn't look good. What happened?" 

"It's fine," Padmé insisted, coming to stand before him. "Can you get me out? And Ani!" If he was here, he must not know what happened! "They brought us both back. They—" 

Padmé's throat closed up, and all the stupid tears she'd spent the last few minutes pushing back under control suddenly burst free again. She hated it, but when Master Jinn's fingers curled around hers on the bars she was so grateful that he was there. He was her Jedi protector. He could fix this.

"I was there," Master Jinn said softly. Padmé could only stare, unsure she'd heard him correctly. "I only just arrived at the square when it started, and I couldn't see much, but I could feel it—feel him and Obi-Wan in the Force."

"And you didn't do anything!?" She took a step back from the bars, her relief turning to ash before her eyes.

"Against that crowd, I would have died for my trouble, and likely so would have Anakin and Obi-Wan," he said with that same terrible softness. But he wouldn't meet Padmé's eyes, and in that moment, she understood that Jedi knew shame.

It didn't soothe the helpless anger that burst into a mess in her chest, and his next words didn't help.

"I can't protect you if I'm dead, Amidala. That is my primary mission."

Padmé sucked in a breath. His eyes bore into hers with weighted meaning, even if he dared not speak her title here. Her formal name was enough to catch her off guard for a few seconds, but then she shook it off. 

Padmé didn't know how he'd learned the truth of her identity, but at the moment it didn't matter. She didn't feel like much of a Queen. Not after everything that had happened since yesterday. Not after what the slave catchers had done to Ani. 

"He's a nine-year-old boy," she snapped, "and they whipped the skin off his back for helping _me_. And you didn't help him because of _me_!"

Master Jinn met Padmé's fury head on with that infuriating calm of his. Despite looking like the worst sort of ragged beggar, when his presence sharpened he commanded Padmé's attention.

"Where there is life, there is hope," he said fiercely. "The Force will show us the way."

"The Force!" Padmé was so angry now it was a good thing there were bars between them. "What way has it shown us so far? While you were fighting in those pits, that creature attacked my ship and killed my people! Eirtaé got away, and maybe Sabé and Rabé are still alive, but I'm locked up here, and our only friends on this planet have been tortured. How is the Force helping any of us!"

Master Jinn's gaze remained steady on hers, but he did not answer right away. "I did not defeat the zabrak who attacked your people," he admitted quietly. "He escaped onto the ship while it was lifting off."

Padmé felt faint. "He still has them?" 

"I'm afraid so," said Master Jinn. "And while we're on the subject of bad news, the price to free you is quite steep. I've managed to convince the manager here to delay putting you in a slave auction until after the pit finals, but that was the best I could do, given the company of rather well-armed and determined bounty hunters in the room at the time." 

He sighed, glancing back down the hall, and for a moment he seemed every bit as old as the grey hairs on his head suggested. "The Force will show us the way," he repeated, and it sounded like words he was trying to hold onto himself.

How was Padmé supposed to believe in the almighty power of the Force when Master Jinn's faith was shaken?

"Can't you break me out?" she whispered, pleading. She didn't want to stay here. She wanted to go home. Desperately, she wanted to be home—and not in the palace in Theed, but in her parents' house, in the room she grew up in. It was a child's plea, and until that moment, something that Padmé had thought she'd truly left behind when she'd ascended the throne as her planet's sovereign. 

Rulers weren't childish. They didn't need the security of their parents anymore. She had more important things to worry about. 

She still did, she reminded herself. Her people needed her. 

But in the privacy of her own mind, locked in a cell on a hostile planet, she was scared and wanted nothing more than to wake up in her childhood home as if from a terrible nightmare.

"Padmé," Master Jinn said her name, and it sounded strange on his lips. "Breaking out isn't the problem." He stopped there and sighed, but she didn't need him to continue. 

She closed her eyes and nodded. "I know." 

The bounty hunters and slave catchers would be after them as soon as the alarm was raised, and even if they made the perfect escape from Mos Espa, with no ship they had nowhere to run.

"I will have you out of here tomorrow evening after the fights end," he said. She desperately wanted to believe him, but wasn't sure she should.

"Will the winnings free me _and_ buy us the hyperdrive?"

He didn't answer, the worry on his face its own answer. Even if he was able to free her, they still might not have enough for the ship. Padmé nodded her head once in acknowledgement and squared her shoulders. She could last until tomorrow, and in the meantime, she'd see if she couldn't do a little of her own convincing.

"If you're going to fight tomorrow, you should rest," she told him. 

He didn't argue. "I'll come back later today once I've cleaned up."

She nodded, grateful. "You'll see how Ani is?" she asked.

Master Jinn's mouth was set in a grim line as he nodded. "I will."

It wasn't much, but it was something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains a scene where Anakin is publicly whipped. It is not told from his point of view, lasts four paragraphs, and is not overly graphic.
> 
> "Strength now" references this story by Fialleril  
> [How Ekkreth Escaped Slavery](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3510809)
> 
> The idea for japor snippets carved with protection charms and worn by slaves is from Fialleril's world-building.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your comments and kudos! I know I'm a bit slow to reply, but I do appreciate every one.

Qui-Gon blinked in surprise when he knocked on Obi-Wan's door and the one-legged twi'lek woman opened it. He hadn't been introduced the morning before when Obi-Wan had asked her to check on Ani after their fight, but she clearly recognized him.

"Jedi," she said.

"I'm Qui-Gon Jinn," he replied. "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage."

"I'm Aishass. Come in." The woman hopped back on her crutch—she had no prosthesis—to let him and R2-D2 pass. The small apartment was much as they'd left it, though someone had cleaned up the broken crockery, and a pack of younglings, none older than five, was piled together on the floor in the small living space, fast asleep. Aishass made her way back to the kitchen where she went back to stirring the blue porridge on the stove, partially turned toward him so she could keep an eye on him.

Qui-Gon wanted to go to where he sensed Obi-Wan and Ani in the back rooms, but he hesitated. "How is he?" he asked.

Aishass shrugged, turning her attention back on the porridge. "His wounds are clean now. He's hurting."

All to be expected, but Qui-Gon felt guilt twist in his stomach anyway. Padmé's accusation rang loud in his ears, even now, even knowing he'd made the right decision.

"He was lucky," Aishass added, softly.

Qui-Gon shuddered to think what she considered unlucky. He went through to the back to the open door of Obi-Wan's room where the young man lay shirtless on the bed with Ani face-down on top of him. He was carding his hand through Ani's hair, the other resting on the boy's lower back, well clear of the lash marks. The red welts were stark against Ani's pale skin, an angry tangle of lines that reflected the tangle of pain and hurt that clouded the Force around them. 

An old twi'lek woman sat beside them in one of the dining room chairs, holding Ani's hand and murmuring in a language Qui-Gon didn't recognize. She quieted when Obi-Wan's eyes flicked his way and he murmured something in return.

"Hello," Qui-Gon said softly. Only years of discipline kept his outward demeanor and his Force presence calm. Ani's eyes fluttered open, and he groaned. Obi-Wan immediately soothed him, brushing his hair back with soft words Qui-Gon couldn't hear.

"Well, don't just stand there, young man. Go fetch yourself a chair," the old twi'lek woman told him, keeping her voice quiet and staring at him with unfocused eyes.

Blind or near-enough, Qui-Gon realized. He did as he was told with faint bemusement at being called a young man. He didn't feel young. In fact, today he felt every one of his sixty-odd years as every muscle and bone in his body creaked when he sat. Exhaustion settled over him like a blanket as soon as he got off his feet. He longed for a proper night's sleep. The droid had followed him and settled in nearby.

"Grandmother," Obi-Wan started, but she waved him silent.

"Hush now. You'll wake him."

But Ani's eyes were fluttering again. "Mm-canna-sleep," he slurred in the frustrated tone of one who desperately wanted to be unconscious. He scrunched his eyes closed, tears running down his reddened cheeks.

"Shh, shh," Obi-Wan soothed him, and Qui-Gon felt his inexperienced attempt to use the Force to try and push Ani into sleep.

"May I?" Qui-Gon reached out but stopped short of touching the boy's arm. 

Obi-Wan shot a glance at Grandmother, who still held Ani's hand, and nodded, his face held in a close frown. Ani watched him through slitted eyes as Qui-Gon gently let his fingers rest on his upper arm. Ani started, a pained cry following his involuntary twitch that provoked his wounds. But Qui-Gon focused his calm through the touch and soothed the pain away. He was no healer, but he knew how to manage a light healing trance, combing out the worst of the pain and guiding Ani to rest.

As the boy relaxed, he sensed Obi-Wan's barely shielded feelings underneath Ani's. The connection between the pair of the them was strong, much like a training bond between a Master and Padawan, amplified by their current closeness and shared grief. Feeling like he was intruding, Qui-Gon pulled back.

"Thank you," Obi-Wan whispered.

Qui-Gon nodded in acknowledgement, wishing he could do more. Wishing he had done more. He rubbed a hand over his face. His own wounded arm throbbed. He needed to meditate. Feeling out of sorts, he was surprised when the elderly twi'lek took hold of his forearm and slid her hand down until she was holding his. Qui-Gon looked over, waiting for her to speak, but she only continued to stare blindly at the painted symbols on the wall above Obi-Wan's bed, content to hold his hand.

Qui-Gon decided to accept the comfort. He inhaled deeply and let his breath out just as slowly. Worrying in the here and now would do him no good, but his mind refused to quiet, troubled by the collision of events that had imperiled them all so quickly. 

At the center of his worry was the zabrak warrior with the red lightsaber. Troubling didn't begin to describe the tremor his presence had sent through the Force. 

He inhaled again and let out another slow breath and let his calming ritual do its work.

He lost track of time, though he never did fully sink into a meditative trance. Ani seemed to have finally fallen into sleep, and Obi-Wan had his eyes closed. After a while, the younglings in the front room began to stir, and Grandmother used Qui-Gon's shoulder to brace herself as she rose.

"Come," she said softly. "Help me into the kitchen."

His muscles had stiffened while he sat, but he did as asked and offered her his arm.

Entering the front rooms was like waking up. Aishass had set the porridge on the table and a human male about Qui-Gon's age had joined her in the kitchen. He'd brought new bowls, enough for everyone, and after greeting Grandmother, he clasped Qui-Gon's hand in greeting as if they were old friends. Before Qui-Gon quite knew how it had happened, Aishass was pressing a glass of water on him, and Grandmother was telling him to get himself cleaned up before he scared the young ones, and he was bundled off to the tiny 'fresher.

It wasn't much more than a hole in the floor and a handheld sonic shower head. It was weak but it worked, and Qui-Gon was unsurprised to find that he felt much better afterwards. On his way back to the kitchen, he passed the man going in to sit with Obi-Wan and Ani. Aishass had set a place for Qui-Gon at the table, so he joined her and Grandmother and the younglings for lunch. 

The younglings took up most of the adults' attention, as reminders to use their spoons and to not kick each other flew thick and fast. They didn't speak much outside of minding them, and Qui-Gon got the sense that was because of him. They'd been kind to him, but he was the outsider in this little community that had come together around Ani and Obi-Wan.

Not long after the end of the meal, while Aishass took the younglings outside to play, and Qui-Gon had begun clearing the table, Obi-Wan emerged from the back room.

"Grandmother, do you have more aasta root?" he asked. He had not put a shirt on, and the scrapes and bruises from the pit fights the day before were stark against his skin.

"He awake again?" she asked, standing and making her careful way to a sack on the counter.

"In and out." Obi-Wan sent a look Qui-Gon's way. "Whatever you did helped, but it seems to be wearing off."

"Calling the Force to facilitate healing is not my specialty, I'm afraid. I can try again, if you'd like."

"He should eat something first." Grandmother had a smaller bag in her hand, but instead of passing it to Obi-Wan she patted his arm and pointed at the table. "So should you. Lor and I can take care of him while you eat."

"But I should—" Obi-Wan protested, but she cut him off, pointing at the table again.

"Sit. I've taken care of worse wounds than these—including yours, dear one."

Chastised, Obi-Wan ducked his head and gave Grandmother a kiss on the cheek as she passed. "All right." He watched her go, and as he did, Qui-Gon took in the injuries writ across his skin.

The pit fights from the day before seemed a lifetime ago already. Now that Qui-Gon needed the prize money as soon as possible to free Padmé, tomorrow's finals felt too far away. So much had shifted, and Qui-Gon once more felt the Dark shadow that had done nothing but press against his consciousness since his duel in the desert. Never before had he felt such powerful Darkness, and he feared what it meant that it was after the Queen. 

He'd felt the Dark side before; his former apprentice had fallen and he'd been carrying the weight of his failure for twenty years. But the power he'd sensed from the zabrak was beyond that. Controlled fury. Cultivated and _trained_.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Obi-Wan had moved to the stove and was stirring the porridge. Qui-Gon focused on the dishes before him, scouring them with sand and running them under the sonic washer. Despite his deep worry, he could not do anything about the Dark-user at the moment. The Force would guide him, but only if he was open to its presence. He put aside his troubled thoughts as best he could and focused on the fresh marks across Obi-Wan's back and shoulders.

"Has anyone seen to you?" he broke into Obi-Wan's brooding.

"Hmm?" Obi-Wan seemed surprised to find Qui-Gon beside him.

"Here." Qui-Gon went and found a clean cloth and grabbed a canister of the precious water. He wished he had bacta—for Obi-Wan and Ani both—but what little he'd had in his first aid kit he'd slathered on the burn on his arm out in the desert. His wound still stung and ached underneath the bandage he'd torn from his tunic.

"I'm fine," Obi-Wan said, turning back to the porridge. He poked at the new bowls next, but didn't serve himself any. Qui-Gon watched him with the cloth and canister in his hand. Obi-Wan was distracted and tense. Anything but fine.

"Obi-Wan," he said loud enough to get his attention. "Humor me."

Qui-Gon pulled out a chair at the table and then met him stare for stare until Obi-Wan finally sat down. Qui-Gon sat next to him and wet the cloth. He took one of Obi-Wan's hands in his own. His palms had been cleaned but his wrists and forearms were dusty, and fresh cuts from the day before had scabbed over. Qui-Gon was as gentle as he could be. Obi-Wan held himself stiffly and didn't flinch.

"I'm sorry I couldn't get to Ani first," he said after a minute.

Obi-Wan sighed, resignation heavy in the slope of his shoulders. "Watto would have had him whipped anyway. He was lucky, really."

"Is that what you call it?" Hearing the echo of Aishass's sentiment, Qui-Gon tried to keep the anger from his voice and failed.

Obi-Wan glanced up at him, his eyes hard. "He's alive and not scattered across the desert."

"I'm grateful he avoided the worst," Qui-Gon said, duly chastised. "I still wouldn't call it luck."

"That's because you've never been a slave," Obi-Wan said, his tone matter-of-fact. "Avoiding the worst is always lucky. We were lucky Watto was in a forgiving mood. It's the last forgiveness we'll see for a while."

He ducked his head as he spoke, and Qui-Gon couldn't tell if Obi-Wan held his freedom against him. He wouldn't blame him if he did. Seeing Ani's small body crossed with those red welts, unable to protect him, watching Obi-Wan on his knees forbidden from protecting him but drawing on the Force in support anyway. The boy was so bright in the Force. To feel that brightness tainted by brutality, to know that he'd been reshaped by deep pain and terror . . .

Slavery was illegal in the Republic, but suffering was no stranger. Qui-Gon had seen his share of hardship in his many missions for the Order. But it was hard to see it carved into a boy, all because he'd wanted to help a friend. Harder when there was very little Qui-Gon could do to help.

He focused on the task at hand, trying to corral his emotions and release them to the Force. It wasn't easy, and he knew that until he had some proper rest, it would be difficult.

Obi-Wan broke the silence. "Where's Padmé?"

"Locked up in the bounty hunter building," Qui-Gon said. "They want to sell her into slavery."

Obi-Wan nodded, unsurprised. He watched Qui-Gon clean one of the deeper cuts, loosening the congealed blood to get underneath it. "I'm sorry."

"I've convinced them to wait till after the fights. I'll use the prize money to free her."

That caught Obi-Wan by surprise. "What about your ship?"

"I'd think you'd agree that keeping Padmé from ending up with a slave chip in her is more important than a hyperdrive." Qui-Gon arched an eyebrow.

Obi-Wan said, exasperated, "Of course I do. But you won't be any less stuck here. What will you do then?"

"As it happens, our ship was stolen. So we'll need to find another option in either case," Qui-Gon said evenly. 

"Stolen," Obi-Wan repeated, his frown deepening. "Just what happened out there?"

So Qui-Gon told him of finding the younglings caught between a tusken raiding party and a powerful zabrak assailant, the arrival of the slave catchers, and how he'd ended up wounded and alone in the desert with no transportation but his own two feet.

"So now he has Padmé's Queen. He's probably long gone by now." However, after a moment Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed in thought, and Qui-Gon had known he was no fool. "But why did he bother to contact Padmé? Was he after you?"

Qui-Gon sat back and poured a little more water on the cloth, considering his words. But Obi-Wan was ahead of him.

"Unless . . . Padmé is the Queen," he said with quiet certainty. He searched Qui-Gon's face for confirmation, and in the end, Qui-Gon nodded.

"Above all, I must protect her and get her to Coruscant," he said, holding eye contact to impress upon Obi-Wan the importance of his mission. "The fate of her entire planet is at stake. As well, the arrival of the Dark-user is most troubling. I must take word of him back to the Jedi Council as soon as possible. I mean to go secure us transportation this afternoon."

Obi-Wan watched him, his eyes sharp though he gave no other expression. 

Qui-Gon resumed cleaning the cuts on his arms. "We'll leave as soon as I retrieve Padmé tomorrow evening. I'm afraid that won't leave me with time to figure out how to free Ani," he said. "I had hoped to make a wager for him, but I don't think that's possible now."

"I see." Obi-Wan had shielded himself once more, but he hadn't looked away from Qui-Gon, who felt the weight of his gaze and shuddered under it.

"I'm sorry," Qui-Gon said. "I should never have made a promise I wasn't sure I could keep."

"The fault is mine," Obi-Wan said, pulling his hands away from Qui-Gon. "I know better than to put my trust in the hands of an offworlder. Especially a Jedi."

Qui-Gon flinched at the coldness in his words, for weren't the Jedi supposed to represent light and hope in the galaxy? "Obi-Wan, I'll come back—" he started, but Obi-Wan pulled away and stood abruptly. He cleared his bowl from the table and took it to the counter, putting as much space as he could between them.

Qui-Gon kept his seat, his conscience prompting him to try again. "After this mission is done, I'll come back for you, both of you."

Turning, the look Obi-Wan gave him wasn't angry, but tired and old beyond his years. He ran a hand through his hair, dropping it with a sigh. "You won't," he said as if it were already fact, and before Qui-Gon could respond, he raised his hand and added, "And don't promise me you will. Don't do that." 

He folded his arms across his chest as if to contain himself. Qui-Gon sensed a hint of the swirling feeling that marked his Force-presence slip through his shielding, but Obi-Wan quickly masked it once more.

"I'll tell the Council about you. If I don't come, they'll—"

"They'll defy centuries of custom to cross the Hutts for the sake of two slaves. Yes, I can see it now. They did the same thing when I went missing," Obi-Wan said with bite. 

The expression on his face dared Qui-Gon to contradict him, and oh how he wanted to. Qui-Gon wanted nothing more than to reassure Obi-Wan that the Jedi would not leave him and Ani here. But neither could he deny that the Council had failed the young man staring him down. 

"We're better off waiting for the rain," Obi-Wan said darkly.

It took a moment for Qui-Gon to register the weight of those words spoken on a desert planet. Obi-Wan turned away from him, busying himself with cleaning his bowl and just as clearly dismissing Qui-Gon.

The move made him bristle. "I won't let them forget you," Qui-Gon said, standing. "I'll come back against orders if I have to."

"So we matter enough to save later but not now?" Obi-Wan spun around, his voice rising and his boiling emotions slipping free. "We don't have later! Ani has five stripes across his back. Watto will probably add another set the next time he mouths off because he's a runaway now and he's not even half as valuable as he was. No need to worry about his resale value for when the debts pile up! No need to make sure he has enough to eat since it doesn't matter if he grows up!"

"So I should sacrifice Padmé and the Naboo in his place? The thousands of people who are being held in camps by the Trade Federation?"

Obi-Wan didn't reply, but his brows were drawn and his glower didn't abate.

"Those are my choices," Qui-Gon said harshly. "A boy or a planet. I don't have _time_ —"

"You have the Force. Isn't that supposed to be enough?" Obi-Wan spat the words like a challenge. 

Qui-Gon barely kept his frayed temper in check. "The Force is a powerful ally but it's not actually magic. I can't—" He cut himself off and stilled himself, leaning his hands against the table and focusing on the scratched plasteel for a moment. He took a deep breath to center himself. Shouting wasn't going to help. 

Obi-Wan let out an angry huff when he didn't continue, slamming his bowl on the counter. He turned his back to Qui-Gon to spoon the leftover porridge into a storage container with sharp angry movements.

Qui-Gon watched him, wishing Obi-Wan understood. He had been partially trained in the Force. Since he hadn't escaped slavery, surely he understood its limits. 

He still had sand crusted to parts of his skin and two parallel cuts down his left side that had been roughly cleaned, although dried blood was still smeared around the wound. They didn't look deep. 

It wasn't until Obi-Wan bent to open the cooler to put the porridge away and the light changed on his skin that Qui-Gon's eye was caught by the asymmetrical pair of dots at his waist. Marks from a shock baton. Other scars, some deep, some shallow, some smooth, some jagged, made by blades and laser burns. Wounds Qui-Gon would expect from a fighter. When he stood, long raised scars that criss-crossed his upper back. His own lash marks.

He didn't know why it surprised him but it did to see such similar wounds on Obi-Wan's back as were now on Anakin's. Older, layered. Qui-Gon's frustration melted away, replaced with sorrow. The marks carved into Obi-Wan's otherwise strong shoulders were humbling, a reminder that no matter what Qui-Gon had seen and the trials he'd faced, he had never been tied helpless to a pillar. He'd always had a lightsaber to hand, the Order to call on, the Force with him to give him strength.

When Obi-Wan finally turned, his anger was leaking around his shields, clearly evinced by the glare he leveled at Qui-Gon. He was still so young, and he'd been younger still when he'd received most of those scars. Understanding that, however, didn't change Qui-Gon's decision. It just made it more painful.

"Of all the people on Tatooine, the Force guided me to you and Anakin. I have no doubt that our paths were meant to cross," Qui-Gon said. "But I have a responsibility to Padmé and Naboo. A powerful user of the Dark side is after her and I must get her to safety. More is afoot and more is at stake than I or the Jedi or the Republic realized, something deeper than a trade dispute." He saw his words reach Obi-Wan but received no indication that he was swayed.

"You do what you must then," Obi-Wan said after a long moment, crossing his arms. "But I won't be able to help you anymore. Ani is my responsibility and the only way I can protect him now is by keeping my master happy. Tomorrow in the fights, I'll try to win, however I can."

Unspoken between them was the knowledge that it probably wouldn't stop Qui-Gon from taking the prize money. But having seen him fight, Obi-Wan would make him work for it. It hurt Qui-Gon's heart that it had come to this.

"I understand," he said.

"You should go." Obi-Wan looked away, then. 

"Might I come back later? To say good-bye to Ani?"

After a long moment, Obi-Wan nodded.

"Thank you."

Obi-Wan watched him in silence as Qui-Gon made sure he had everything. The droid was still in the back rooms with Ani, but he would come for him later. At the door, another apology backed up behind his teeth, but when he looked over his shoulder, Obi-Wan had already turned away.


	10. Chapter 10

Ani wasn't hungry, but Grandmother insisted he eat. His shoulders hurt, a stinging fire that dulled when he chewed the aasta root. He tried the porridge, he did, but holding his head up hurt too much and then he couldn't catch his breath because he was crying like a baby, and he wasn't a baby, but he felt like one.

Lor tried to distract him with a story, but Ani hurt too much to really listen. It wasn't a true story anyway. Ekkreth wasn't coming for them. None of the stories were true, he thought with despair. He wanted to yell at Lor to stop, but he was crying and he couldn't yell because it hurt to move. 

It hurt so much.

"Breathe, Ani. Breathe now," Grandmother said, when a few of Obi-Wan's things rattled on the shelves nearby. He tried, he did, and after a minute of ragged gasping Ani caught his breath.

"Ani?" Obi-Wan was back. Ani didn't know how long he'd been gone. Not long. Too long.

"Oba." He reached for him, and Obi-Wan came to him. Grandmother and Lor made room, and this time Ani didn't care about the pain as he tried to curl around Obi-Wan.

"Careful now, careful, dear one," said Obi-Wan, laying down with him and gathering Ani in his arms. He touched only where Ani wasn't hurt, and as soon as they were skin-to-skin, everything was easier. The pain was still there, still strong, but it was easier to breathe, easier to believe it would pass. Just easier. 

Ani tucked his head against Obi-Wan's chest, and Obi-Wan wiped the tears from his cheeks and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. "Breathe with me," he said, and it was easier to focus with Obi-Wan there, helping him breathe.

Ani breathed.

Grandmother held his hand, and Lor murmured something to Obi-Wan.

"I ate a little," Obi-Wan replied.

"You need to eat more than a little to take care of him," Lor replied. Or Grandmother did. It was hard to tell because Ani thought they'd had this conversation already.

"I'm fine."

"You're fighting tomorrow and you need your strength, you stubborn child." Lor wasn't upset though. He was never upset with Oba.

Obi-Wan sighed, his chest rising and falling beneath Ani's cheek. His fingers ruffled through Ani's hair, and Ani's shoulders hurt, stinging and burning, but it was almost bearable between the aasta root and Obi-Wan holding him.

Ani drifted. He heard Lor say that he had to go. Heard Obi-Wan murmur his thanks for coming. Grandmother started another story, this one about Elder Sister and the time she ate a caravan of slavers. His back hurt, but it was easier to ignore this time, with the story and Obi-Wan reminding him to breathe. Ani's luck-sense brushed up against his, familiar and reassuring.

He wondered where Padmé was. She had been captured too, but no one had said anything about her being whipped so maybe she was fine. He thought he'd heard Mister Qui-Gon, too, earlier. He'd helped him sleep, maybe. Ani was drifting, and the aasta root had eased the pain, and something was beeping now, trying to get his attention.

"What are you still doing here?" Oba sounded annoyed and the beeping resolved into a retort that Threepio wasn't around so there was no one to talk to.

"Artoo?" Ani tried to say, his eyes slitting open to see the blue and white astromech nearby. The droid whistled happily at him and then came right up to Ani and beeped again. "A gift?" Ani frowned, wondering if he'd heard right.

Artoo popped open one of his compartments and shook out a pile of small electronics right there onto the floor with a loud clatter.

Obi-Wan cursed. Ani cried out when he lifted his head to see, and a red fire of pain lanced through his shoulders.

"I'm going to end up stepping on those," Oba said, the way he always did when parts ended up all over the floor.

But Ani was curious. "I wanna see." He reached without moving his shoulders, flexing his fingers on empty air. He heard Grandmother gasp and felt cool metal hit his fingertips.

"Ani," Oba's voice held the warning it always did when he reached with his luck-sense. But Grandmother already knew he could move things with his mind so he didn't know why it mattered. Obi-Wan was always nervous about it though, and where Ani lay draped across his chest he could feel how Obi-Wan was holding his breath.

Ani tapped the part he held—a small cylinder casing with trailing wires of some sort—on Obi-Wan's shoulder.

"What's it for?" he asked.

Obi-Wan let out a long breath and managed a shaky smile. "I don't know."

Ani frowned at the piece, wishing he could see the other stuff on the floor, too. "Mom would know," he said, wishing she were there.

Oba brushed Ani's bangs from his face, running his fingers through his hair. It felt nice. "She would," he said. 

Ani dropped the cylinder back to the floor and reached for another part, inspecting them one by one. It was an odd collection: a power pack from a data pad, what looked like a magnetic resonance transceiver, and a bunch of other things Ani couldn't identify without a voltmeter or an interface. He looked over at Artoo as best he could. The droid rocked gently back and forth on his side legs.

"Well?"

Artoo chirped in reply, and Ani wasn't sure he heard right.

"What did he say?" Oba asked when Ani froze on top of him. He was crap at understanding Binary, but he always knew when Ani was worried. Ani could feel _his_ worry until just nothing but worry surrounded them both. 

He hissed through his teeth when another lance of pain skittered across his shoulders. He pressed his forehead to Obi-Wan's chest, hiding his face and trying to find that warm safe feeling again. Obi-Wan stroked his hand through his hair, and that was good, but it didn't stop the hot throbbing that pulsed under his skin. The pain had been better a minute ago and now it wasn't and Ani's back just _hurt_.

"Ani?" Oba said. "Breathe for me."

He didn't answer. Couldn't. He clenched his hand around the capacitor in his hand and tried to breathe. For a moment he wished Mister Qui-Gon was there to help him sleep. Whatever he'd done before had soothed the worst of the pain.

Oba repeated, "Breathe for me. Just breathe," over and over again, brushing his fingers through Ani's hair. It was hard, but there was no choice. Ani clenched his eyes closed and tried to remember the feeling that Mister Qui-Gon had given him, but it was no good. "With me, breathe," Oba said, and his fingers moved with his breath making it easier to follow. 

Ani cried and he tried to breathe with him, and eventually he did. It didn't make it hurt less until it did, the pain easing like a sand snake slithering away to something manageable.

Grandmother was singing softly. She must have been for a while, but Ani only noticed it now. It opened up a different kind of pain, in his chest this time. He opened his fingers and let the capacitor fall to the floor with the other stuff that Artoo had brought. Brought for him to build with.

"I miss my Mom," Ani said. His throat was closed up with his tears. Some of them ran into his ear and felt weird but he was too tired to wipe them away. He was so tired. "Do you think she's okay?"

"I hope so," Oba said, his voice soft but close. "She's smart and clever. Wherever she is she'll keep herself as safe as can be."

"She could build anything," Ani said, seeing Artoo still nearby. His red optical sensor was trained on Ani, and he wooed in a noise that Ani wasn't sure translated directly but he understood anyway. 

"She could," Oba agreed, and Ani felt his smile through his skin, felt his sadness, too. It was different from his own whenever he thought about Mom, but also the same. She would hold him and sing to him and wrap her arms around him until he was hidden and safe. She would tell jokes when he stopped crying, and maybe later, when he was feeling better she'd show him how to twist wires together and piece together Bocce code. 

She would know what to do with the stuff Artoo brought.

Ani's fingers trailed through the parts on the floor, gathering them together with his luck-sense. He felt Obi-Wan tense under him when he felt what Ani was doing, but he didn't say anything this time. Oba never moved things with his mind if he could help it. He'd taught Ani to hide it. Even though it made them special, it was dangerous if they were caught, he always said. 

But so many things were dangerous. What Mom had taught him was dangerous, too, both what he could remember and what he'd learned since. Helping Padmé had been dangerous. Very dangerous. And when Mister Qui-Gon had come to rescue them, he'd been dangerous, using his powers to fight the being who'd kidnapped Padmé's friends. Using his powers to help even though it was dangerous.

"Mister Qui-Gon said if I was free I could be a Jedi," Ani said. He felt Obi-Wan tense again, and this time the air seemed to thicken with it. Ani dropped his hold on the parts on the floor and they clattered where they fell.

"Did he?" Oba said. His voice was calm but Ani could sense how he didn't feel calm.

"Yeah." Ani's luck sense was just like Obi-Wan's. "Does that mean you could be a Jedi, too? If we were free?"

"Me?" Oba inhaled sharply, then let it out slow. He thought for a long time before he answered. "I almost was once, when I was a boy."

"You were?" Ani was careful this time and froze instead of moving, but oh how he wanted to sit up and see Obi-Wan's face. 

"Mm," Oba hummed, running his hand through Ani's hair again, spreading a safe and close warmth with it. "But then I was on a transport and captured by slavers, and that part of my life ended. I don't think I could ever go back now."

"But you could be a Jedi!"

Ani didn't get it. He would be a Jedi in a heartbeat if he could. He'd take his laser sword and strike down all the Hutts and all the slavers on Tatooine and free everyone. Depur would fear his shadow.

Obi-Wan's pause was longer this time. "I was sent away from the Temple, and when I was captured they didn't come for me," he said at last. "And when they didn't come I forgot everything I was supposed to know to become a good Jedi."

Ani's thoughts halted in their tracks, swept up and away as if by a sandstorm. "Why didn't they come?" he whispered, for surely that was a mistake. The Jedi were _good_. They were supposed to save people. They were supposed to free them.

"I don't know," Obi-Wan said, his voice quiet. "Qui-Gon Jinn is the first Jedi I've met since I was captured."

"But he's good! He's going to help us! He said I could be a Jedi!" 

"The Jedi isn't Ekkreth, Ani," Oba's voice was gentle, which somehow made what he said worse. Grandmother had stopped singing, and it was like a black hole had opened up in Ani's chest as big as a sarlacc pit and with as many teeth. "He didn't come here to free us, remember?"

"I remember." Ani screwed his eyes shut. He remembered, but part of him had hoped. If they were friends, if he could help them win their ship back, maybe, maybe, maybe . . . Padmé hated slavery. Even if Mister Qui-Gon refused, maybe she would . . .

"He's leaving with Padmé tomorrow, after the fights," Obi-Wan went on. 

"Will he come back?" Ani asked, feeling small and scared, scoured by winds outside of his control.

"Only to say goodbye."

Ani turned his head as much as he could against Oba's shoulder. He didn't want to listen anymore. Oba stroked his hair while he cried silently, his pain pulsing in time with the sobs he couldn't keep in.

* * *

Master Jinn had cleaned up somewhere while he'd been gone all day, and when he returned Padmé hated him for it. She'd been stuck in the same clothes and filth she'd been wearing since yesterday, going mad in her tiny duracrete cell. Three off-white walls and the barred grate to the hall. The corner held a smelly hole in the floor that had been mortifying to use, even in the relative privacy of the empty hallway. 

She'd been given a small amphora of water that morning, which was nearly empty now, and after midday she'd been supplied one meal of the horrid porridge that seemed to be the only thing people ate in this city. Her insides were gnawing at her stomach, she had sand everywhere, the graze on her right shoulder throbbed in pain, and she felt sticky and gross.

To make matters worse, there was nothing to do in the cell. She was bored out of her mind. All day, her thoughts had cycled between the memory of Ani's horrific whipping, and the worst her imagination could produce at what her handmaidens were suffering at the hands the zabrak that had started this whole mess in the first place.

So when Master Jinn showed up with clean and brushed hair and neat robes under that stupid poncho, Padmé's temper was more than a little frayed.

"What took you so long?" she demanded. Through the narrow open-air windows in the hallway near the ceiling, it was full dark outside. "Is Ani all right?"

"He's alive, and as best he can be without proper medical attention," said Master Jinn. "I saw him this morning. No one gave you any trouble?"

"No." That had been the one stroke of luck she'd had. The flip side of spending the day alone with her thoughts meant no one had bothered her.

"Good." Master Jinn was hard to read at the best of times, but he sounded like he'd expected that.

Padmé narrowed her eyes. "Did you arrange for them to leave me alone?" she asked, but only received a half-smile in return.

"In a manner of speaking," he said. 

Padmé almost demanded how much that had cost—they still needed to fix the hyperdrive on the ship. If they could get the ship back. Every minute she was trapped in this cell that became less and less likely. She slumped against the bars a little, the thought enough to drain her anger.

Master Jinn's smile faded quickly as well. "I've secured us passage off-world," he said, drawing Padmé's immediate attention. "A small freighter traveling to the Mid-Rim. Once we're back in the Republic, we can get immediate passage to Coruscant."

Padmé straightened up. "And my handmaidens?"

Master Jinn did her the courtesy of looking her in the eye. "I've had no communication with the zabrak. There's been no word in the port of a Nubian ship. We know he can't have left the planet without a hyperdrive, but—"

"He could get another ship." Padmé gave a bitter laugh. "I suppose that's one way to fix the hyperdrive problem."

"I don't think he's left yet. He wants you. I believe he will try again." Master Jinn face was grave. "It's why I believe we should leave as soon as we can."

Padmé stepped closer to the bars, hope flaring. "If he tries again that's our opportunity to free my people."

But Master Jinn was already shaking his head. "It's too risky. Your safety is paramount. We have already spent far too long here. This Dark-user may only be the first sent to hunt you down and prevent you from reaching Coruscant. The longer we stay, the worse our chances become."

"What happened to the Force providing us a solution?" Padmé snapped. She was angry because as much as she wanted to argue otherwise, he was right. Her foray into the desert yesterday to negotiate with the zabrak had been a grave mistake, as much as it broke her heart to admit it. Ani, Eirtaé, Sabé and Rabé were paying the price.

"The Force has." Mister Jinn regarded her with a gaze that Padmé met with a glare of her own, refusing to be cowed. "I have a way to earn the money necessary to free you, and I have found perhaps the only pilot in this city who will accept Republic credits to grant us passage off-world."

"But no help for my people," Padmé said, and this time, Master Jinn sighed, his cracks showing.

"It is neither fair nor easy, I know. But we must work with what we have and take the opportunities the Force presents us with," he said. He set his hand on the bars, as if to reach out to her. "You have a whole planet full of people who need you, too."

Padmé knew that. Nevertheless, she felt chastised by the reminder and glanced away. 

The Trade Federation had her people in camps, and she dreaded to think of what was happening to them. Her experiences on Tatooine had opened her eyes to the cruelty that sentient beings could inflict upon each other. She'd thought she had understood, and in an abstract way, her studies had taught her the distant lessons of past or far-off wars. But nothing had prepared her for the everyday atrocities of this violent world. 

Perhaps that was why she could only see in her mind's eye Eirtaé held by the zabrak's knife. Her people on Naboo seemed so far away in comparison. Never mind that her handmaidens were trained to die for her if need be. 

Padmé wasn't prepared for that either. When she became Queen, she'd promised herself that she'd never let it come to that. She'd been naive. 

Nevertheless, she would not forget that promise and do her best to keep it.

"The zabrak," she turned back to Master Jinn, and was proud of how steady her voice was. "Was he a Jedi?"

Master Jinn's frown deepened, but his answer was immediate. "No. Though he was a Force-user." He shook his head. "It's something I must discuss with the Jedi Council as soon as possible."

Padmé hoped they knew more. Whoever he was and whoever he was working for would pay for their crimes. If the Trade Federation was employing Force-users to do their dirty work, the whole situation on Naboo just became much more dire.

While she was stuck in a slaver's cell on Tatooine. 

"There's no chance you can break me out now that we have passage?" she asked, clenching her fingers around the bars, the itching need to do _something_ crawling under her skin with her simmering anger.

"The freighter could not outrun any pursuit that would follow. No, releasing you legitimately will be our best course," said Master Jinn.

"And you're certain you can win the prize money?" There were so many things that could go wrong. If he was injured or killed, what then?

"Yes," he said with quiet certainty that Padmé could practically feel. She was reassured, if marginally, enough for her to take a deep breath but not enough to quell her helpless frustration. She had to trust that he knew what he was doing. She had no choice, and she hated it so much she had to clench her teeth to keep from lashing out. 

"Have you eaten?" Master Jinn asked.

Padmé swallowed down a cutting remark and admonished herself that even in captivity she was still a queen. "Not since midday."

"I'll be back soon with dinner then." He left, and Padmé retreated to the back corner of her cell, alone once more.

* * *

More folk stopped by as the suns set and the day's work was done. They came to the doorway to Obi-Wan's room on silent feet, with quick gestures in place of words so that Ani wouldn't be disturbed. 

On one of his rare trips away from Ani to the 'fresher, Obi-Wan put on a shirt and ducked into the front room to say hello and accept the protective charms carved out of japor and the small gifts that people could spare to help them while Ani couldn't work. Watto would dock his weekly rations for sure, and maybe Obi-Wan's unless he could assuage him by winning the fights. It was a long shot against the Jedi, but if that's what it took to keep Ani alive and safe, he would do it. 

Aishass, free of her charges for the day, passed Obi-Wan a bowl of hot tzai, which he accepted gratefully. The spicy aroma settled his nerves and relaxed his shoulders from his ears.

"Thanks," he said.

"He asleep?" she asked, pulling out the chair next to her. He should really get back to Ani, but Grandmother was in with him and Aishass tugged on his arm, so Obi-Wan gave in and sat. It would just be until he finished his tzai.

He nodded in answer to her question. "What news?" he asked the handful of folk gathered around his table. Their presence was reassuring, a reminder that he and Ani weren't alone in their pain. They had people who cared for them. Even if they could do nothing, they were still here, and that was a comfort. 

And, because good could not exist on Tatooine without the weight of the bad, their presence was also a stark reminder that the one person Obi-Wan wanted most was not here. Shmi would know what to do. She would know what to say to Ani. She would hold Obi-Wan's hand and let him cry on her shoulder in the 'fresher where Ani couldn't hear.

"The usual, just with more slave catchers swaggering around," Dernai said. "You'll want to avoid the cantinas on your way to the pit tomorrow."

"Sya and Erino have been kept by the masters overnight," said Olli. "We can probably expect a rattling through the quarter tonight."

Obi-Wan sighed, glancing around their rooms, which were already a mess. He should hide a few things for the slavers to find and break, keep them from wanting to smash anything more important. 

His eye caught on the symbols of Ekkreth and the Unfettered on the wall. Shmi had painted them when Watto had moved them here. "To remind us who we are," she'd said at the time, a daring move to be so open, but she'd always been one for big gestures. They'd painted the rest of the designs to make them stand out less, but they told their own story. They'd made it out of the Palace, and Obi-Wan had survived the rancor. 

At the time, it had felt like a miracle. Five days later, Watto had sold Shmi away.

"The watch is out," Hammainian said, scratching at her long ears. Obi-Wan tuned back into the conversation as she told them who was where. They'd send word ahead of any slave catchers who came to the quarter, but they had to take care that those keeping watch weren't caught. A twinge of guilt turned uncomfortably in Obi-Wan's belly. He was usually out there when tensions were high between Depur and their people, his luck helping keep them safe.

Olli, sitting on his left, seemed to understand. He clapped him on the shoulder and leaned in close. "I can see your worry out your ears," he said. "Let yourself rest for this one. We will watch over you."

The others nodded, and Obi-Wan's tension eased a little. "Thank you," was all he could say. Aishass bumped into him on his other side and pressed between the two of them, Obi-Wan felt held together.

He blew out a slow breath, letting his head hang over his mug of tzai. Its spicy scent again helped calm the worry and fear he held close. "I don't know what to tell him," he confessed. "He's nine, and he was trying to help a girl he liked."

Aishass wrapped her arm around his back and set her chin on his shoulder. "You tell him he that he's strong enough to live through this. You tell him that stripes don't take anything away from him unless he lets them. You hold his secret heart for him when he can't and give it back when he's ready."

Her words cut Obi-Wan to the quick, like a needle through his skin to his own secret heart. He had his own stripes and burns, and a year he didn't remember before he'd been sold to Gardulla's Palace. By the time he'd found his secret heart, Obi-Wan had lost so much, he'd been forged anew. 

The Jedi's arrival, Ani's questions—Obi-Wan thought he'd been doing fine, but now he felt as if he'd been squeezed and twisted, finding shapes of his childhood memories that he no longer knew how to hold.

Ani had been born into slavery, but he was so bright. Even when the worst had happened and Shmi was gone, he'd found his way back to his light. The dark tremor that Obi-Wan could feel running through him now felt like the dark threads he felt in himself, and that scared him more than he could say. 

But that was all the more reason to listen to Aishass and keep Ani's brightness safe and loved, cherish the heart of him till he found his feet again. He leaned his head against hers, grateful she was there to remind him. 

Around him the gathering continued chatting quietly, the voices of his friends soothing even as the topic turned to reprisals and the likelihood of more public punishments until Depur was satisfied that their slaves were once more under their thumb. 

As Obi-Wan sipped his tzai down to dregs, so too did their conversation wind down. Obi-Wan stood first, feeling the itch to go check on Ani again. That was the cue for Aishass to start gathering bowls. Olli helped her clean up. Dernai was the first to come around to give Obi-Wan a hug and trace a blessing on the back of his shoulder as he did so.

Feeling it, Obi-Wan closed his eyes. He'd been telling Ani all day to remember to breathe, now it was his turn to be reminded. This was a bad day, but it was only one day. Tomorrow would be a new day, and no matter the uneasy feeling he had about it, this day would be done. Someone fetched Grandmother, and she passed him the rest of the aasta root from her bag. She and Aishass were the last to leave. 

"Make sure you sleep too, dear one," she admonished him with a pat to his shoulder.

"He will, or he'll have me to answer to," said Aishass, wrapping Obi-Wan in a hug. He'd try, anyway, for her. Obi-Wan let his forehead bump against hers as they separated.

"You'll come tomorrow?" Even after all these years, that little niggle persisted that whatever good there was to be had, whatever friendship, wouldn't last. Everything could change as quickly as the wind on Tatooine, and tomorrow he'd be in the fighting pits and Ani would be here alone.

"Yes, of course." Aishass ran her fingers down his arm in reassurance.

Obi-Wan took a deep breath and made himself accept her words. "Thank you."

Aishass smiled, her eyes full of compassion. "No need for thanks between us."

Nodding, Obi-Wan managed a smile for her in return and walked her to the door, and in their own way the tap of her crutch and Grandmother's slow steps were familiar and comforting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tzai is a creation of Fialleril's, a drink made from a desert plant. Each family has their own secret recipe.


	11. Chapter 11

Obi-Wan was avoiding him. Qui-Gon watched the young man as he sat against his section of wall amongst the other slaves, his naked blade set across his knees. The others left him alone, focused on their own preparations for the fights ahead.

Qui-Gon breathed deep and tried to put his lingering disquiet from his mind. 

The tenor of the staging ring today was much more intense as only the best fighters had made it through to the finals. The fighters were all focused on their preparations, where on the first day the mood had been much more boisterous. Many of them recognized each other, slaves and mercenaries alike, and not just from the fights. Qui-Gon had heard more than one muted conversation where Obi-Wan in particular was singled out, recognized from yesterday's public whipping. The mercenaries were not impressed, but nor did they confront him directly.

The numbers for the finals were a fraction of what they'd been in the initial two days of fights. Only the top four fighters from each of the two previous days fights had made the cut. To accommodate the tiers of entry fees, they filled low-, mid-, and high-stakes brackets with varying prize pots, reflecting the money to be made by the fighters and the bettors. So twenty-four fighters in all, of varying caliber with each bracket. 

As the day's tournament began it was clear who had made it through on skill and who on luck.

While Qui-Gon watched the early matches, he reflected that too many of the mercenaries were unused to fighting in close quarters against skilled opponents. The slaves, more experienced in this type of fight, held the upper hand. 

It was equally clear after watching Obi-Wan's first match that if this were a true test of skill, he ought to be fighting for the high stakes prize. But then, so should Qui-Gon. Watto's ploy to have Obi-Wan win their bracket and with it the prize money—and the claim to the Nubian ship that Qui-Gon had put up as collateral for Watto fronting his entry fee—would have worked against a lesser opponent. 

He crossed his arms on the sill of the window that looked out at sand-level onto the arena. Obi-Wan had his spear in one hand and the shorter vibroblade in the other as he stalked around his opponent, a beefy klatooinian who held a long pike and fought with too much caution. He used his reach but had no speed, whereas Obi-Wan was quick and accurate. He'd already landed a half-dozen blows, though only a couple had beaten the klatooinian's armor. 

The crowd was eating up the show. And it was a show. Obi-Wan was in control of this fight, drawing it out to wear out his opponent, make him sloppy with his longer reach.

When the mistake came, the klatooinian lunged wide and Obi-Wan spun, leapt, blocked with his vibroblade and landed a devastating spear thrust to the klatooinian's vulnerable chest. The klatooinian jerked back, twisting off-balance so the spearhead slid across his armor rather than through it. The metal on plasti gave a dull screech as the spear scored across it. A moment later, Obi-Wan was bringing his vibroblade to bear under the klatooinian's chin.

The crowd cheered with a thousand deafening voices. A call for blood went up, and as if called by the siren song of the crowd, Qui-Gon's fellow competitors turned to look at the magistrate in the booth who had the deciding vote.

"Pathetic show like that should get his throat slit," one being near Qui-Gon said, slapping his neighbor's shoulder. "Gotta make them want to keep you around."

"He might have paid the survival fee," his neighbor retorted.

"You think that slime had enough currency to keep his head?" the first being scoffed. "Probably couldn't make bounties rich enough to keep him _out_ of the pits."

The magistrate raised his black flag signaling that the klatooinian indeed hadn't had enough currency to purchase his life in case of a loss. The noise from the crowd rose in a crescendo that burst into a roar when Obi-Wan slid his virbroblade home into the klatooinian's brain.

Qui-Gon closed his eyes, feeling the fighter's life snuffed out. A small life but a life nonetheless. What was worse, he could sense the currents around Obi-Wan, who to all appearances was at ease with the death by his hand, as he raised his sword to the applause of the crowd. But the turbulent emotions around him were anything but easy. 

It was reassuring to know Obi-Wan didn't find killing comfortable. But neither had he hesitated.

Obi-Wan returned to the staging ring to a combination of jealous glowers and wary respect. A few of the other fighters clapped his shoulder as he passed, and one or two mercenary types barred his path, earning themselves a steady glare until they gave ground, their point made. Qui-Gon found that same glare leveled at him as he followed Obi-Wan to the amphora of water.

"Are you all right?" he asked quietly.

Obi-Wan flicked his fingers at the slave who was in charge of the water station. He cast a sideways look at Qui-Gon, who could practically feel the disbelief radiating off of him.

But what he said was, "I'm not hurt, if that's what you're asking."

It wasn't, and they both knew it, but Obi-Wan was already walking away back to his patch of wall. Two nearby beings skittered away, and a small bubble of space opened up around him. He glowered when Qui-Gon filled it by sitting beside him.

"I understand you're angry," he said.

"What do you want?" Obi-Wan cut in. "Unless you've changed your mind I'd rather have a quiet moment to prepare before the beast round."

Qui-Gon absorbed his words and their troubled energy, exhaling calm in its place. Were Obi-Wan a Jedi, he'd suggest they meditate to help him gain control over his palpable turbulence. Two days ago, Obi-Wan may have accepted. Qui-Gon found himself unexpectedly mourning the burgeoning rapport that had begun to grow between them.

"While my course must remain set, that does not mean I do not care about you and Ani," he said. "I can feel you are troubled from the death in the arena."

"I'm more troubled by the chip in my body and the stripes on my child's back." Obi-Wan sent another glower his way. "But since you don't plan to help ease those concerns . . ." He trailed off meaningfully.

Qui-Gon had no answer Obi-Wan would hear and let the silence pool around them. If Obi-Wan was bothered by it he gave no sign. The silence proved its own balm. Qui-Gon listened as Obi-Wan checked and cleaned his weapons, his breathing evening out into a half-familiar cadence that eased the tension incrementally around him.

His own form of meditation, a half-forgotten lesson perhaps, reforged for his new life. 

"The Force has not abandoned you," Qui-Gon murmured, mindful they were not alone. "It flows through you when you fight, if not as skillfully had you completed your training at the Temple. Certainly as powerfully as any Jedi."

Obi-Wan stilled but did not look up. "What does that matter?"

"The Force opened my path to cross with yours. Perhaps the Force guided you here to cross paths with Ani."

"I'm fairly certain it was the Jedi who didn't want me and sent me to the Outer Rim."

Qui-Gon raised a placating hand. "I only meant that the Force often works in ways we do not always understand when we are in the midst of events."

"Twelve years is a long kriffing 'event'." Obi-Wan shot him another distrustful look. "I am not a servant of the Force. Intentionally or otherwise. I'm just lucky. Luckier than others maybe, but luck can only take you so far in the desert, and that's all that matters here. So your talk of the Force doing this or that to make me feel better? It doesn't matter. The Jedi didn't want me. There was no completing my training because my training never started. I was an aged-out initiate being sent to serve out my life on a farm when I was captured, and when I never arrived, no one noticed."

Beneath Obi-Wan's anger, Qui-Gon sensed the hurt of a decade-old wound that had never healed. It made him want to reach out, but the gulf between them only felt wider with his every attempt to bridge it. Qui-Gon had no gift for seeing possible futures, but he didn't need to in order to be struck by regret for what might have been. 

"It is our loss," he said at last. "You have grown into a good man, Obi-Wan. A good father."

"I don't need your approval, Jedi."

"Nevertheless, you have it. And my word that I will bring your case before the Council. You won't be forgotten a second time. Neither of you."

Obi-Wan still didn't believe him, but it was all Qui-Gon had to offer. He stood, ready to retreat to make his own preparations. The match fights were wrapping up and the beast round would begin soon.

"For what it's worth," Qui-Gon paused and waited until Obi-Wan looked up at him. He was still so young despite the cares that he wore alongside his clothes and armor. "Had our paths crossed when you were a boy, I would have been honored to have you as my padawan."

Obi-Wan held his eyes for a long moment, his feelings a chaotic swirl before he drew up his mental shields around him like a blanket.

"Those weren't the cards we were dealt."

"No." Qui-Gon sighed, tasting his own guilt and regret. "No, they weren't."

* * *

Ani turned one of the parts that Artoo had brought him over and over, trying to follow the wiring through both sides of the circuit board. 

It wasn't a design he was familiar with, but he'd figure it out. Most electronic systems tended to verge on each other no matter who originally designed them. 

What was really annoying was that he had to lay on his stomach, leaning over the edge half-off of Obi-Wan's bed, in order to handle the parts on the floor with his tools. The light wasn't very good near the floor, so Aishass had gotten him the lamp from his room to help him see. But it still wasn't comfortable.

His shoulders hurt, and he had to be careful to only move his elbows if he could. He'd been chewing on aasta root to help. Ani was pretty sure he was also getting used to the pain, too, which made him so angry. It was wrong and terrible and he hated being a slave. 

He felt so dumb too because he'd known this could happen, except Anakin thought Watto would have pressed the button and blown him up. Obi-Wan said he'd talked him out of it, and Ani was mad at him for that too because he wasn't sure that wouldn't have been better. His shoulders and back hurt so much!

"Easy there, Ani." Grandmother was sitting with him. She'd been telling stories all morning, and sometimes Aishass would let one or two of the little kids in at a time to play guessing games to distract him. He'd yelled at Oyoya, though, when he'd picked up one of the parts Artoo had brought. It hadn't been nice of him, but it was Ani's, and Grandmother had scolded him when Oyoya burst into tears. He felt kind of bad about it now.

"When will it stop hurting?" he asked. He wished Obi-Wan were there. Or even Mister Qui-Gon with his Jedi powers to help him sleep, even if he was leaving with Padmé as soon as the fights were over.

"A few days for the worst to pass. A few weeks for pain to sit with you. But you will heal, Ani. You will," she said. "Do you want me to tell you about the time Ekkreth was sent to hunt themself down?"

"No." Ani picked up the circuit board and wire cutter again. His head hung over the side of the bed and he felt the blood rush in. "I'm tired of stories."

"Hmm. Not so tired to listen to what they have to say, I hope."

Ani groaned. It had been stories all day already, and he was sick of them and bored. Tricking Depur in a story was good and all, but the excitement Ani usually felt—the hope—was hard to find when his shoulders and back hurt so much. He didn't feel clever at all. 

"All right then." Grandmother patted his head, and Ani would have shrugged her off if it wouldn't have hurt. "I'll leave you be for a little while. Go stretch my old bones and leave you to sulk."

"I'm not sulking," Ani protested, but Grandmother simply smiled and patted him on the head again. She stood slowly and shuffled out.

The quiet was nice for a minute. But then it was too quiet, and Obi-Wan's absence felt real. It was rare for Ani to be home alone and stuck in bed. If Watto let him go early he usually went to play with his friends or work on Threepio or his pod. 

Of course his pod was trashed now and that sent another pang through him of how stupid he'd been. They hadn't even been able to save Padmé's friends! He'd trashed his pod and been whipped, all for nothing.

Now Obi-Wan and Mister Qui-Gon were back in the pits, and Padmé was locked up. Everything was terrible, and Ani didn't know what was happening, and he couldn't do anything, not even with these stupid parts that Artoo had brought that were supposed to help, but were completely useless! 

Ani dropped everything in frustration, kicking his legs against the bed because it wasn't fair. He couldn't do anything laid up like this!

A series of beeps accompanied the whirring of Artoo's wheels as the droid rolled into the room. Ani scowled at the droid. "I can't do it, Artoo. I can't figure it out!" 

The next set of Binary whistles talked about specs that Ani had a hard time following, but he thought he was saying something about running standard diagnostics. Artoo didn't know how organics would do that.

"Well, I don't either," Ani snapped. "I can't even tell what kind of detector this is. I've never seen one like it."

Artoo rolled over next to the bed and extended a gripper from his body to poke through the parts he'd brought. He separated a couple, pushing them toward Ani. He beeped something about soldering procedures, a base, whirring a question at Ani as he puzzled together what the droid meant. He started to see the framework, but they'd need to use something to hold it together. 

Artoo spun his dome top toward the shelf by Obi-Wan's bed where a row of tiny metal sculptures sat.

"No!" Ani's shoulders burned in pain when he jerked, trying to push Artoo away. "Aaaaheee!" Scrunching his eyes shut, he tried to breathe through the terrible flare of burning pain like Obi-Wan said. Artoo made a sorry sound and an are-you-okay bleep, but Ani couldn't answer for a minute. He tried, but he couldn't. 

"Ani!" Aishass called, her foot and crutch hurrying toward the room.

"'S'okay," he said a few minutes later while she fussed over him. There wasn't really anything she could do except sit in Grandmother's chair and hold his hand. But it helped a little. "Just moved wrong."

"Stay still, then," she advised with a smile to let him know she was teasing.

Ani grimaced and nodded, not feeling very funny. "Can you get that down for me?" He pointed at the sculpture on the end of the shelf, careful to only bend his elbow.

"This?" Aishass picked up the metal flower with glass beads held in its center. Of all of Obi-Wan's sculptures, it was Ani's favorite, and he cupped it in his hands when Aishass handed it to him. Something about it felt right to him in a way that was different from the others, even most of his own sculptures that were in his room. A couple felt like this one did, though—just right.

Aishass left when Ani was quiet, saying she'd bring him something to eat soon. Ani wasn't really hungry but he nodded anyway, picking at the metal flower petals. 

He held it out to show Artoo. The astromech leaned forward so his optic sensor could get a better look. "It's not junk, see? My mom made it," Ani explained. His earlier anger had faded and now he just felt the gaping sadness that he always felt when he thought of his mom. "She's a mechanic too, and whenever there was leftover scrap metal, she'd make these for people. Obi-Wan found the beads for this one."

Artoo made an approving sound and then another questioning sequence.

Ani shrugged in reply. "I don't know. My mom saw the desert bloom once. She told me stories about it, and how we just had to wait like buried flower seeds for the rain to come. I've never seen it rain before either. I heard it did over the Dune Sea a few years ago, but no one was sure if the being who told the story was lying or not."

Artoo bleeped in rapid succession, something about the dimensions being more mechanical than organic, but he seemed happy about it, so Ani thought he meant it in a nice way.

"I miss her," Ani whispered, feeling the hole in his heart tear bigger. He just wanted her to hold him. To make the pain go away and whisper in his ear that everything would be okay, that one day the desert would bloom and everything would be different, even if only for a day.

Another series of beeps, these more tentative.

"Yeah," Ani nodded. "I'm definitely going to find her again. Soon." He carefully set aside the flower and ran his fingers back through the row of parts on the floor. A couple that were out of comfortable reach he drew closer with his luck-sense. "What's the broadband threshold?" He pointed at the detector sensor.

Artoo made a chirping sound that Ani didn't understand, followed by the description of a few other specs.

Ani huffed out his frustration that he still couldn't quite figure out how he was supposed to put it together. For machines, the details were where everything could go wrong. But Artoo had brought him a lot of good parts. When it came down to it, detectors were detectors, and it couldn't hurt to try to put it together. 

Thinking that didn't help with the daunting nerves in his belly. What if he put it together wrong? What if he didn't? What if he got caught with it?

The slave catchers had rattled through the quarter last night, though luckily they hadn't come into their house. So if he tried, they wouldn't come back so soon and find him with it.

"I tried making one once," Ani said. "But Watto got angry, and he hit me. I don't remember what happened afterwards, but Obi-Wan was scared and was really good for Watto for weeks after that and he made me be really good, too. It was horrible, and it wasn't fair." The old indignant anger still burned about all the groveling they'd done. At the time Ani had hated Obi-Wan for making him. "We had to do it though. Watto's not the worst master but he's not a good one either."

Artoo beeped in vehement agreement with what Ani was pretty sure were Binary curses. He'd heard other upset droids say them but none of the protocol droids or Threepio would tell him what they meant. Artoo shuffled a little back and forth on his legs, inching closer to the bed. Ani smiled a little and patted him on the lower part of his casing that he could reach easily.

Artoo whistled and beeped a question, and the smile dropped off Ani's face. 

He'd thought about it. He'd thought about it the whole time Obi-Wan was making him make it up to Watto and telling him they had to hide their real feelings so Watto wouldn't know, told him to tell Watto that he just wanted to visit his mother, he would have come right back. Ani remembered that they'd yelled at each other a lot, how much he'd hated everything—how much he'd wanted mom there instead of Obi-Wan because she would understand how wrong it all was. 

It wasn't till later that he finally understood what Obi-Wan was afraid of. "I wanted to make another one. But Watto . . ." 

Ani hadn't told anyone this before, not even Obi-Wan. Artoo chirped in encouragement, and since he was the one that had brought him the parts, he should know. 

"Watto brought an appraiser to the shop one day. He was wearing his sash and everything. Obi-Wan wasn't there. He was making deliveries, so it was just me. I didn't like him. He had cold eyes, colder than Watto's, and he kept shoving me around and pulling on my arms and asking how much I ate. I wanted to kick him, but Watto kept asking what market would take a disobedient slave. He meant it, too. I could tell." Ani shivered, his back twinging at the movement. "I thought that was it. I'd be sold away like my mom by the end of the day."

Ani dragged his fingers over some chipped paint on Artoo's casing. He didn't like thinking about the appraiser, but like all his worst nightmares, he couldn't unsee the memory. Artoo made a soft questioning noise.

"Obviously he didn't sell me, but after the appraiser left, Watto leaned in close to my face," Ani said quietly. "Really close. So close he was breathing on me. He said he'd sell me as far away from Obi-Wan as he could if I ever tried again."

Artoo made a sympathetic woo, and Ani took a deep breath and held it, hearing Watto's words again like Watto was there. He'd been dreaming about it in his fitful sleep ever since Artoo had dumped the parts on the floor, but only now telling Artoo did the memory of the threat, the fear of being sold away like his mom, of losing Obi-Wan forever like he'd lost her, sink into his heart and feel real. 

Artoo was a droid. He didn't care about Ani's tears when they fell. "That's why," he whispered. "Watto watched us really closely after that, so I started building my podracer instead."

Artoo rolled a little closer, trying to comfort him.

"He'll sell me soon," Ani whispered. He could feel it. "Sooner than I can make this. I'll never see Oba again." 

He had never been so scared in his life as when the appraiser had been naming prices for him. Not even good prices, like he was faulty and needed rewiring before he'd amount to anything. All he could imagine was an empty room he'd be shoved into in his new master's house. They wouldn't feed him because he'd eat too much, and no matter how much he cried and shouted he'd never see his mother or father again.

Abruptly, Artoo blatted, a spate of Binary following almost too fast for Ani to follow, but what Ani caught seemed to mean Artoo was determined to help. He rolled back a little and began sorting parts into more piles, nudging the fiddly bits toward Ani's human hands and taking the more robust pieces that he could handle with his pliers and grips for himself. When Ani just stared at him, he blatted again impatiently. 

The idea took a moment to roll through Ani's mind and make sense, but when it landed, he sucked in a breath because Artoo was right. Watto would sell him either way, so he might as well try to get away first.

Ani still felt that frisson of ingrained fear. But this time, instead of his fear winning, his determination rolled over it. He tugged a couple of the pieces closer toward him and reached for the tools he hadn't used yet. 

Obi-Wan was in the pits fighting for Watto. Mister Qui-Gon was fighting to help Padmé. Padmé was on the verge of having a slave chip burrowed into her body. Ani had already crossed all the lines he wasn't supposed to. Crossing one more wouldn't hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story about Ekkreth hunting themselves is told in [Optimal Functioning](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5227754) by Fialleril


	12. Chapter 12

Obi-Wan was restless. The beast round had begun and he paced from one window to the next half-heartedly paying attention. A slave fighter deftly battled a pair of desert wolves, giving the crowd a show. He was good. In control of the field. 

How much better would he be if he'd had Jedi training? 

He spun away from the fight again, telling himself to stop thinking about it. But that only served to make Qui-Gon's words louder in Obi-Wan's mind. Closing his eyes against them ringing through his thoughts didn't help, but Obi-Wan did it anyway, trying to shake them off and the memories they churned up. 

But it did no good. His thirteen-year-old self's shame over losing his temper and being passed over by master after master. Empty promises of one more Knight to talk to who never showed up. The reprimands from his teachers, the knowledge that he'd tried too hard, but did everything wrong, and now he was no good.

Qui-Gon's regard shaded by sincerity in the Force when he said Obi-Wan had grown into a good man.

It cut. It wasn't supposed to. He'd been trying to be kind. But kindness was double-edged when it came to might-have-beens. Where had Qui-Gon been when Obi-Wan needed a teacher? What did it matter now when Qui-Gon was leaving as soon as he had his prize money to free Padmé? 

Obi-Wan couldn't even be properly angry about that, as painful as it was to see this chance at freedom slip through his fingers. Padmé was young and pretty, and having been young and pretty in Gardulla's Palace, Obi-Wan wouldn't wish that fate on anyone.

Obi-Wan stopped pacing when he reached the unspoken line between the freed and slave areas of the staging ring. The Jedi was behind him, watching him. Obi-Wan could feel his gaze like the pass of ghostly fingers along the back of his neck. He scowled when he turned, and sure enough, there was the Jedi against the wall with his eyes on Obi-Wan. He had his section to himself while almost everyone else was watching the beast fight. 

Obi-Wan paced away, unwilling to give the man more of his attention. He had his own fights to worry about. Their bracket wouldn't be facing wolves. And after that whoever was left would be paired off for the final contests. 

Obi-Wan's gaze slid over the slaves he might face. Good fighters, all of them. All but him were regulars in the city pits, and their masters had likely paid their survival fees. Obi-Wan didn't want to guess whether or not Watto, the tight-fisted bastard, had bothered with his for the finals. Good or not, lucky or not, someone could get the better of Obi-Wan. And he knew who that someone was likely to be. 

Would the Jedi kill him if the magistrate demanded? Could Obi-Wan kill the Jedi if he had the upper hand? It might not matter. They might not even face each other. Maybe he'd die by someone else's hand first. And then what would happen to Ani?

The breath he let out was long as he attempted to steady his racing thoughts. He was not calm. The understatement present in that thought was enough to make him laugh sourly at himself. If he were a Jedi, no doubt he'd be able to calm himself down. Meditate. His childhood lessons had given him a few tricks to use over the years, and he'd learned a few more from the elders when he lived in the Palace. But it wasn't until he'd sat with Qui-Gon when he'd first arrived that he'd found something approaching that _feeling_ from his childhood again.

He could have been a Jedi.

Obi-Wan had no words to describe the ache that caused in his chest. The bitterness. But some part of him he'd thought long buried wanted to go _home_. 

He couldn't remember what the Temple looked like. He didn't remember faces, only a few names and impressions. A feeling he could never quite catch. The longing sat like rocks in his heart, and he wished he could scour it away. The past was the past and there was no going back. No second chances for the likes of him.

In the commotion between the first and second fights, one of the slaves snapped his fingers by his leg. "Heya," he said low but pitched to catch the attention of those nearby. His eyes, however, caught on Obi-Wan. He sidled closer, saying, "You might want a drink of water," and then walked casually to the window to watch the fight in the pit. 

Obi-Wan suppressed the urge to look after him and made his own casual way to the amphora station where a second slave had joined the attending slave with fresh water to refill the amphora. It was no one Obi-Wan knew, a youth several years younger than him. The hem of his tunic was embroidered with a pattern of the pits. Obi-Wan felt a bad feeling stirring, but he took a breath and told himself to listen first to the message.

"Dernai sent me," the boy said, when the attending slave tapped him on the shoulder. Obi-Wan's stomach sank to his knees. "Second round of your bracket, special request sent to the Palace for a duneclaw."

Obi-Wan let out a long slow breath, his heart racing as the news settled. A duneclaw. It wasn't even subtle. "Well, it's not a rancor," he said—the first thing that popped into his head. 

The boy stared at him like he was crazy, which was probably fair considering how vicious duneclaws were. The amphora attendant held out the dipper of water, which Obi-Wan took gratefully. It was cold and smooth down his throat and it gave him a moment to think. "Lor say anything about it?"

The boy seemed surprised that he knew the slave who was the Palace's de facto beast master, but he answered steadily enough. "The duneclaw's been captive a few weeks. Bad tempered and not fed since yesterday. Lor says he's a sad bastard set to make everyone sad with him. I don't know why he thinks that because that duneclaw isn't anything like sad. He's a mean one, and this will be his first fight."

First fights for beasts were always unpredictable. Obi-Wan flicked his fingers in thanks for the heads-up and returned to prowling through the staging ring, his mind racing in a whole new direction. 

Lor's comment on the sad bastard was his way of saying it was a proud, wild beast that should have stayed a wild beast. That it was chosen to fill the city pit request meant it was likely to do more damage than survival fees would cover—a bad investment for the Palace where Gardulla's bookies governed who lived and who died. 

Exceptions happened of course. Obi-Wan had been one once, surviving against the rancor set up to rid Gardulla of troublemakers. But no one wanted to pay good money to watch a beast eat through the group facing it with no contest at all, even groups as small as two, which they were for each round of this tournament's finals.

But a master willing to make the competition disappear could make it happen anyway. 

Obi-Wan should keep his head down and ignore Dernai and Lor's warning. He had the seventh match overall, placing him in the fourth round where he would no doubt face an easier beast. 

He glanced toward the Jedi. Qui-Gon had his eyes closed, but they opened a beat after Obi-Wan's gaze landed on him. He frowned, and Obi-Wan forced himself to breathe and mind his thoughts and feelings. He turned away, willing the uneasy feeling in his gut to calm. But calm escaped him.

It was a perfect setup, and Obi-Wan saw the shape of the plan as easily as if it had been told to him. The Jedi was slotted third overall and first in the second round. He would face the duneclaw. It would be a hard and dangerous fight. Duneclaws were massive and had plated armor and tough skin. They had weak back legs, though, if you could get to them. To get close with handheld weapons put you in range of their rock-crushing front legs, and those didn't need their sharp claws to smash a fighter into pulp. 

Even if the Jedi survived, it would be a fight of a thousand cuts and dodges, and he'd be worn down by the time he faced the final round. Vulnerable to fresher fighters. Vulnerable to Obi-Wan, whose odds had no doubt just skyrocketed to favored. 

With bets set this morning, Watto was poised to make a fortune on top of the prize money and the ship that the Jedi had put up as collateral. 

The ship he didn't have anymore. Obi-Wan could see how it would play out. 

Qui-Gon trying to talk his way out of it to no effect. His freedom and Padmé's forfeited to pay the debt. Two more slaves added to Watto's collection.

Perhaps he'd train Ani to be a Jedi in captivity, Obi-Wan thought bitterly. Perhaps he'd train Obi-Wan and they could escape. He quashed the thought as soon as he had it. While the petty part of him thought it would serve him right for breaking his promise, slavery was not to be wished on his darkest enemy, and for all that he was angry with him the Jedi wasn't his enemy. Qui-Gon had Padmé to protect as Obi-Wan had Ani.

"Are you all right?"

Obi-Wan jumped. The Jedi had snuck up on him. He glanced around, catching a few eyes on them from the other slaves. The one who'd passed Obi-Wan the message was paying particular interest. 

"Fine." Obi-Wan turned his back on him and went to hunker down in his spot by the wall. He ignored Qui-Gon and kept his eyes on his weapons, checking for nicks that he'd missed. This wasn't the time to be seen talking to him. Not if he wanted to make it to his beast round without suffering an accident. 

Out in the pit, the crowd roared, the first round coming to a close. The gates to the staging ring squealed open and the dusty and bleeding fighter staggered in, accepting gruff congratulations on her way to the medical droid. Obi-Wan's eyes assessed her quickly: blood stained both sleeves of her tunic and she was favoring her left side. Her spear didn't drag, however, but was neatly balanced in her grip, as she walked with her head held high. 

For all that she looked like she'd crawled from the belly of the beast, she had plenty of fight left in her. 

How much would Qui-Gon have after he faced the duneclaw? Obi-Wan had fought one before. He'd been wrecked afterward, and that had been a beast he'd help keep at the Palace with Lor. He'd known its weaknesses, where to strike, how fast he needed to be to avoid getting hit.

Obi-Wan froze: he could kill the duneclaw. 

As soon as the thought occurred, Obi-Wan knew it was mad. Mad and incredibly stupid for so many reasons, first and foremost that Watto would be furious. He'd be defying his master who had all but arranged for him to win. He'd be putting Ani at risk, not to mention he'd actually have to fight the beast. 

But like poking at a rotten tooth, the idea remained, even as he watched Qui-Gon step to the gates to wait while the previous creature's carcass was dragged out of the pit.

Any other fighter and Watto could be assured that he'd die almost as soon as the gates opened. But Qui-Gon was a Jedi, and the truth was, as good as the other slaves and mercenaries were, the odds were on him, not the duneclaw. The odds had always been on Obi-Wan facing him for the prize. More likely than not, one of them would die. 

What's more, Obi-Wan would bet on the Jedi beating him in an matched fight. Perhaps that wasn't the worst outcome. Qui-Gon was honorable enough that winning the money to free Padmé at Obi-Wan's expense might mean he'd save Ani after all. Or he'd balk, and they'd both be punished with death.

But if Obi-Wan came out the victor?

He'd killed so many in the pit. Beasts by the dozens. Slaves he'd known, mercenaries who were better off dead. He'd cut them down in the heat of the fight, his blade slicing through flesh when it was kill or be killed. He'd fought to a win, with his opponent on their knees at his mercy, and looked to the magistrate for judgement. Those moments demanded action before thought. Absolute obedience of his blade lest his explosive chip be activated for rebelling against the law of the pit, his worth paid out to his master. 

Each time, Obi-Wan felt the death like a physical blow, as if the life in his hands was a glass bauble in his chest abruptly crushed into a thousand sharp fragments. The price he paid for wanting to live. The price he paid to stay with Ani. Regret for those lives taken had never outweighed that price.

Yet when Obi-Wan thought of the Jedi on his knees, the Jedi on the sand at the end of his blade and close enough for the powerful thrum of his life in the Force to touch Obi-Wan's—the same way it had when they met and when they meditated together, when he'd promised to not forget them . . . 

He swallowed hard, throat sticking and cold sweat prickling his skin with dread. 

As angry as he was at the Jedi, as much as he resented his kindness and calm, as powerfully as he craved it, Obi-Wan knew he wouldn't be able to kill him. Not after he'd given him back a little of his past, after easing Ani's pain, after bringing them water. 

For all he'd fallen short of his promises, Qui-Gon had done what he could for them, and Obi-Wan understood Qui-Gon breaking his original promise when everything had gone sideways. He was a Jedi, and Jedi thought about the greater good. Padmé and her people needed him. 

And if he did tell the Jedi Council of him and Ani, well. Obi-Wan had never been one to blindly hope, but even on Tatooine it rained sometimes. 

The heft of the spear and the buzz of the vibroblade were familiar in his hands as he crossed the ring toward the gates. The Jedi sensed him and glanced over his shoulder, giving him a smile even now as he unsuspectedly awaited his fate. Out in the arena, the dead beast had been cleared, and Pit Master was waving at his people to open the gates.

Obi-Wan didn't know he was going to do it before his hands were moving. He stood behind the Jedi, and the Jedi trusted him. Slamming the pommel of his vibroblade into the meat of his shoulder while trapping his legs was enough to take Qui-Gon down. It was long enough for Obi-Wan to leap over him and into the pit as the gate opened. 

Pit Master was shouting after him, but he was already racing across the sand to the roar of the crowd and the beast gate had opened to release the duneclaw, large and roaring. It was too late to catch him.

On Tatooine, the slaves all waited for the rain. They waited year upon year, and if it needed nudging? 

Obi-Wan squared off against the duneclaw, finally calm as he faced his wild opponent with its armored plates and enormous front legs. What was the use of being lucky if he couldn't stir up a distant cloud on the horizon?

* * *

"Kriffing crazy!" 

"Who bought a duneclaw?!" 

"He's dead for sure!" 

"Nah, that's Luckmaker. If anyone can kill it, he can." 

"He's a dead man after for taking the spot. No amount of glory is worth that."

Qui-Gon's shoulder throbbed hotly as he pushed himself to his feet. Nearly the entirety of the fighters, mercenary and slave alike, were pressed up against the windows to see out into the arena. He still wasn't quite sure he followed the snatches of conversation beneath the shouting of the Pit Master and the influx of guards into the staging ring, but they could do no more than watch with the fighters until it was over. 

Qui-Gon pressed forward with the rest to see what was happening on the sand. The roar of the crowd nearly drowned out everything else, the entire arena on its feet and riled up at the spectacle of a staggeringly large beast fighting a human that was tiny in comparison. 

Obi-Wan had been standing behind him, but it wasn't until he caught a glimpse of the young man wielding his weapons in the pit that he believed it. 

Outmatched, was the word that came to mind. The beast Obi-Wan faced was easily ten times his size, scuttling around on two massive front legs and a pair of smaller back ones poised to spring. It had a hard exoskeleton that clattered when Obi-Wan's spear made contact, but did not give. 

Its head sported two layered, protective plates, and when it threw its head back to roar, its cry shook the air. It spat a thick glob of oily green at Obi-Wan who dodged backward and to the right with lightning-fast reflexes, turning to swipe at the beast with his vibroblade. His edge connected and the beast screamed as it left a deep score on its carapace before Obi-Wan darted away from more toxic spit.

"He's marked him!" someone among the fighters shouted as the staging ring erupted with cheers in echo of the crowd above.

Qui-Gon, however, glanced at the steel-bladed weapon in his own hand, things quickly tumbling into place. He'd been meant to face the beast, and with its defenses, his metal weapon would have done him little good. He would have been forced to use his lightsaber to defeat it. A blatant violation of the rules of the pit, and with the additional danger of outing himself as a Jedi. 

Qui-Gon doubted he'd have been allowed to pass to the final to fight for the prize money in that case. No, he'd been meant to fall to this beast. Somehow Obi-Wan had known. He didn't know how, but Obi-Wan had taken his place to spare him.

As plain to any who knew how to watch a fight was the fact that Obi-Wan knew this beast, knew its weakness, knew how to distract with his spear and strike with his vibroblade, keep it off-balance and following where he led. 

They danced on the sand, two creatures of the desert, as Obi-Wan slowly wore the beast down. He moved with grace powered by the Force, in tune with it as he never was outside of the arena. Here was Obi-Wan in his element, using his gifts and hard-won skill to defeat a beast that might very well might have had the better of Qui-Gon.

He didn't know how long the fight lasted. He couldn't take his eyes from it. He flinched when the duneclaw's massive foreleg caught Obi-Wan's side and sent him tumbling and rolling across the arena. He opened his sense of the here-and-now of the Living Force and felt when Obi-Wan surged to his feet in a burst of energy that then flagged. 

He felt the vibrancy of the crowd's will flow around the fight, saw Obi-Wan lifted by it as he carried on. It was a brutal slog, and he was getting tired, but carry on he did. 

The end when it came, came swiftly and without warning. Obi-Wan feinted with his spear, and then again, and again. The beast fell for it each time until the last, when it surged forward in a direct attack. Its shell was stained with green ichor oozing from the wounds Obi-Wan had scored between the plates, its cries becoming sharper and shorter with each attack. But this time Obi-Wan charged directly back, an unexpected move that had the creature rearing back and creating an opening for its belly. Two strikes and it was over.

Obi-Wan rolled out from underneath as the beast gave its death cries, which were drowned out by the crowd cheering like they never had seen such a fight before. The fighters in the staging ring erupted in cheers like they hadn't either, shouting and screaming and stamping their feet, already recounting the battle to each other.

In the arena, Obi-Wan had collapsed to his knees, but he nevertheless had the strength to raise his spear and vibroblade in salute to the crowd who lost their heads once more.

Qui-Gon pushed through the throng of people to the gates, glancing through the windows as he moved. Obi-Wan hadn't moved from where he knelt. The Pit Master and four of his guards were heading out toward him. Another four blocked the gates from the fighters, shoving them back as they, like Qui-Gon, tried to get closer to see what was happening. Obi-Wan was surrounded by the guards when he came back, but walking under his own power, Qui-Gon was relieved to see.

"Obi-Wan!" he called, but his words were lost amidst the shouting of the rest. The guards didn't stop in their progress either, pushing though with Obi-Wan at their center, who stared straight ahead as if he didn't notice. 

When he passed where Qui-Gon stood, his eyes flickered over for a moment and he nodded in acknowledgement, a half-second of connection that was just as soon swallowed up as he disappeared from view. The guard at the end took his weapons and hustled him toward the exit gate. Through the opening, Qui-Gon saw more guards on the other side, a bad feeling settling in his gut.

"Obi-Wan!" He tried to push after him, but someone caught his arm and jerked him back. Qui-Gon raised a hand in an aborted defense. It was one of the slave fighters Obi-Wan had been talking to earlier, and his expression was as firm as his grip when he leaned in to speak in Qui-Gon's ear.

"Accept his gift and be content with it. You won't be of help to him now."

"What?"

"You'll only cause him more grief if they think he did it for you." The man's eyes bore into his. "Trying to help him now will only hurt him. You have your own fights to prepare for."

He dropped Qui-Gon's arm and retreated, leaving the Jedi on uneven footing. The slave had accomplished what he'd meant to do: while he'd been speaking, the guards had closed the gate out of the ring and taken Obi-Wan with them.


	13. Chapter 13

Obi-Wan was late getting home. 

Ani knew it, Grandmother knew it, and Aishass knew it when she came in to tell him that she needed to go take the little ones home. 

Ani glanced at the chrono on the wall. Sunsets were fast approaching, and pit fight finals didn't usually last all day. He and Grandmother pretended to be occupied with their respective projects, Grandmother with her mending and Ani with his scanner. Artoo sat beside them, the only one truly concentrating on the task at hand.

When they heard the outer door open, Grandmother smiled, letting out her relief with a, "There he is!" But Ani felt the worry in his gut curl tighter, because whoever it was didn't feel like Obi-Wan.

"Obi-Wan! Ani!" Mister Qui-Gon's voice called out, and a moment later the Jedi was at the entrance to the bedroom. He pulled up short when he saw Grandmother, glancing around the room. "Where's Obi-Wan?"

"He's not with you?" Ani said, even though obviously he wasn't. Reaching out to Mister Qui-Gon, Ani's worry blossomed into full blown panic. Mister Qui-Gon was always calm and certain about everything, but right now he felt anything but calm. When he moved, he set off disquiet waves of a feeling that Ani associated with terrible things happening to Obi-Wan, and that scared him.

"No. And Padmé is no longer at the bounty office. The manager wasn't there, and all anyone could tell me was she'd been picked up by a toydarian earlier. Watto, I assume, and he's not at his shop. I can't find any of them."

"That's not good. Not good at all." Grandmother stroked a hand down her lekku. "You were with Obi-Wan earlier?"

Mister Qui-Gon ran a hand over his hair, which was wet and slicked back. His poncho hid his shirt but his pants were covered in sandy dirt and blood spatter. He shook his head, and Ani held his breath.

"He took my beast fight. Killed the creature—a duneclaw that was big, larger than any of the other beasts. Somehow Obi-Wan knew, and he knew how to kill it. They hauled him off right after." His eyes landed squarely on Ani. "He probably saved my life by taking that fight."

But Ani only heard one thing. "They took him?" 

"Ani," Grandmother patted for his hand, holding tight when she found it.

"I couldn't follow. I finished the fights, won the entire prize purse, more than enough. I have the money for Padmé's bond. I was going to pay Watto. He had no need to take her! Either of them!"

Grandmother leaned forward in her chair when Ani squeezed her hand, hard. He stared at Mister Qui-Gon because he won the pit fights, just like they wanted. But everything was turning out wrong anyway.

"A duneclaw, you say," Grandmother said, letting out a sigh. "That's not right for a city pit fight." She turned to address Mister Qui-Gon when he remained silent, her voice even despite the strength of her grip that felt like worry to Ani. "A beast that big, bigger than the rest like that means the odds were long. And if you were meant to fight it, not Obi-Wan who worked in the Palace stables, then he may have cost Watto quite a lot in the betting pools."

Mister Qui-Gon's jaw clenched. "And Padmé? Why take her?"

"What does any master want? Profits and dominance."

"No." Ani shook his head. He wasn't sure he understood what dominance meant but he understood how masters turned a profit when things went bad.

"You think he means to sell them. Because Obi-Wan helped me." Mister Qui-Gon closed his eyes. He looked older, like slaves did sometimes after they were beaten, only Mister Qui-Gon hadn't been beaten by Depur.

"We have to save them!" Ani cried, letting go of Grandmother's hand and trying to push himself up. He cried out when his back burst into new flares of pain.

"Ani, no," Grandmother tried to get him to stay down, but he got himself sitting despite the pain.

"We have to!" he cried, aware of the tears on his face and not caring, because it was from the pain not his fear. Mister Qui-Gon didn't move for a long moment as Ani stared him down. His expression was grave and intense, but Ani wasn't going to back down.

"I agree," Mister Qui-Gon said at last. "Any ideas where to start?" He turned to Grandmother, but Ani was quicker.

"The markets! They run on seventh days. One's tomorrow!"

"Watto may have made a private arrangement," Grandmother cautioned. "Especially for the girl."

"I'll start asking questions tonight," Mister Qui-Gon said.

"I'm coming with you," Ani told him, struggling to get his feet untangled from the sheet.

"Ani, no," Mister Qui-Gon crouched in front of him, his hands joining Grandmother's to keep him still.

"We have to find out what happened to them and you'll need my help!" He glared at the Jedi.

Mister Qui-Gon's face creased unhappily. "You're still recovering. The best thing you can do is heal and stay where we won't worry over you. I'll see if I can't track them down tonight, but at this hour I doubt I'll be able to do anything till morning."

"But—"

"He's right." Grandmother ran a soothing hand over Ani's head, but he tried to shake her off. He didn't need her comfort now. He didn't want it. He wanted to find Obi-Wan and Padmé.

"I can help!" Ani said stubbornly, even though his back really hurt now as it hadn't in hours, and he could feel the prickle of tears at the corners of his eyes slide down his cheeks. 

"Oh, Ani." Mister Qui-Gon let out a sigh. Ani buried his head in his arms, his head thick with wanting Obi-Wan, and entirely unwilling to say so. He felt the Jedi's large hand brush over his head, and then he left, Grandmother following. Ani couldn't hear what they were saying in the other room and he didn't care. Artoo beeped at him, but he ignored him too, letting out sobs so big he felt like he would choke on them. 

Everything was wrong and nothing was right, and he was all alone.

* * *

_Earlier_

Slivers of sunlight filtered from the windows in the corridor through the bars into her cell. Padmé had watched their progress since they'd appeared before midday, urging them onward and with them, for time to pass faster while she festered in her own anxiety. 

She had never felt so helpless. 

Playing the part of the damsel while the Jedi Knight fought for her freedom was not the role she ever thought she'd be playing. Her training with her handmaidens was supposed to ensure that she would never be caught unawares, but here she was. 

It did not escape her that were she not helpless in this cell, she might very well be on the way to the zabrak Force-user's employer—the being who very well might have arranged for the blockade of Naboo. But Padmé had very little taste for counting it a blessing when her fate rested on Master Jinn winning a barbaric tournament, and her captors playing fair and releasing her once her bond was paid. 

It ought to be soon. The shadows in her cell had steadily been getting longer and the light more orange as day gave way to dusk. In the distance, if she listened closely, Padmé could hear the indistinct rise and fall of the noise from the pit. She'd seen enough of those first few fights with Ani that her imagination was conjuring up the worst that could happen to Master Jinn each time the cheers rose into a crescendo.

The last time she'd heard such a cry had been a while ago, and she could only guess that it meant the fights were over. A victor had been declared. Now she paced, watching the slow drag of light across her cell in smothering silence, waiting.

When at last the noise of movement broke into the hallway, Padme startled, her whole body buzzing suddenly as if jolted awake from sleep. A pair of footsteps and something else causing the air to stir came toward her. The angle of her cell prevented her from seeing who approached, but she could hear their shouting in Huttese. She waited for Master Jinn's reply, her nerves ratcheting tighter when she didn't hear his voice.

Her worry transmuted into anger as they voices drew closer. She recognized that second sound now—rapid wingbeats—and she was spoiling for a fight.

A moment later Watto flew into view with the bounty manager trotting beside him. Watto had a snarl on his face, snapping at the manager over his shoulder. The manager for his part seemed confused, frowning and shaking his head like he couldn't pull his thoughts together. Padmé took a step back from the bars and stood tall. She gave Watto her most dismissive royal look that conveyed all the ways he was beneath her. He spat on the ground through the bars at her feet.

"You!" he yelled at her in Basic. "I knew you and your tall friend would be trouble. You try to steal my slave to sell for your hyperdrive and now the tall sleemo has turned my other one against me!" 

"I wasn't stealing anybody," Padmé retorted. "Slavery is abhorrent and a crime against the rights of sentient beings."

"Oh, so you admit you were trying to steal Ani for himself!" Watto loomed against the bars and shook a finger at her. His features were not difficult to read despite Padmé's unfamiliarity with the differences of his species. "That's a crime against _me_ on this planet! And you can be assured I'll be taking what's mine after what you and your partner have cost me."

"Cost you—" was all Padmé was able to get out before she was distracted by the bounty manager opening her cell. "What are you doing?!" 

"Taking what I'm owed," Watto leaned in and gave her a nasty smile.

"Master Jinn is coming to pay my bond at the end of the day. You promised you'd give him that long!" Padmé backed away from the manager who shook a pair of binders at her.

"Bond's been paid," he shrugged his wide shoulders and gave her a toothy smile with a nod thrown Watto's way to indicate who had paid it. "Your tall friend can pay off Watto if he wants you back." He stalked closer, and Padmé retreated but there was nowhere to go.

"No! You can't!" 

"Sell her?" Watto scoffed to the manager, as if she hadn't said anything. "A slave girl like that will fetch far more than her bond price. I can't believe you let him talk you into setting it so low. More than one establishment will pay top price for one so fresh." 

He scratched at his chin while the bounty manager grabbed Padmé. She tried to fight him off, but his species' skin was thick and he was easily twice her mass. Once he had hold of her arm, he brushed off Padmé's attempts to free herself until it was all she could do to evade the shock baton. But she didn't have the space to dodge it for long before the manager caught her along her waist and tased her into submission.

Her whole body felt set afire from the electricity. It didn't last long, but she staggered, her heart trying to find its beat again and her lungs air. The muscles in her side spasmed where the baton had struck. 

By the time she had regained her bearings, her hands were in the binders with a lead attached like an animal. The manager handed the other end to Watto.

He yanked on it, and Padmé stumbled trying to keep her balance, still feeling the aftereffects of the shock baton. She wasn't so affected she couldn't glare at him however, no matter how futile it seemed.

"You will regret this," she said, certain of the retribution her planet would call for if she were harmed and squashing all doubt to the contrary.

"I think you'll find you're the one with regrets," Watto sneered.

Seething, tugged along by the binders Padmé had no choice but to follow him out of her cell. She would keep her eyes open though, and take her chance when she could. Master Jinn was surely on his way from the arena. The suns would be setting soon and business surely must wait until morning. There would be ample opportunity for her to find a way out of this.

A dozen eyes landed on them as they entered the front office. A handful of bounty hunters were gathered around a couple of tables that stood under an electronic posting board. The screen flickered with blue images of mugshots in sequence, underwritten by an alphabet Padmé didn't recognize. On the other side of the room was the manager's office, where he peeled off to check in with the scrubby little being who was minding the comms station that was visible through the open doorway.

"Ehey, Watto!" The manager called out just as they reached the door. He beckoned Watto over, and Padmé was jerked around behind him on her leash. With Watto crowding the doorway, she couldn't see the holoscreen the manager was showing him. 

Watto chuckled. "Now that is a nice price, eh?" he said. He looked over his shoulder at Padmé, his gaze running over her from head to toe leaving her feeling slimy in its wake.

She made her face a mask he couldn't touch, even as she swallowed down her nerves. She did not like wherever this path was leading. Watto didn't explain. He merely smiled his cruel smile and tugged her toward the door.

Walking up the steps to street level, the baking heat of the day hit Padmé like a blow, encasing her like an oven. She flinched away from the glare off the white buildings across the street. It was brighter outside than she expected, and while sunsets approached it wasn't as late as she'd previously thought.

"Up, up!" Watto shouted at a being crouched by the door, their head covered in a white scarf to keep off the sun. Watto lowered from his hover enough to swat at them with a telescoping baton that he pulled from his belt. The first thwack landed across the being's shoulders as he unfolded. Their head was covered in a scarf, and it wasn't until they were on their feet and looking past Watto at Padmé that she recognized Obi-Wan.

She blinked at him, hiding her surprise. He was dressed in poorly fitted clothes in the slave style with none of the armor that he'd worn to the first day of pit fights. He was supposed to be at those fights now, fighting Master Jinn on Watto's behalf, she'd thought. But instead he was here, shifting his weight carefully, like it hurt to move, as he fell into step beside her after Watto. 

Watto was speaking over his shoulder to him in Huttese. Obi-Wan kept his head down and he stayed quiet as they followed Watto down one street and then the next. She quickly lost track of where they were until they arrived near the edge of town at a speeder dealership, where with growing alarm, she realized that Watto was renting one.

"Obi-Wan, what's going on?" she asked urgently. He gave her a quick glance that barely acknowledged her question. 

"We're going to Mos Eisley," he murmured. 

"Mos Eisley! Where's that? _Why_?" 

This time Obi-Wan looked at her long enough that she could see his naked fear. "He didn't say. But I can guess."

So could Padmé, but she couldn't comprehend that this was something that was actually happening to her. She had a thousand questions—Where was Master Jinn? What had happened at the fights?—but Watto was calling Obi-Wan over to get the speeder and he went. Soon, she was bundled in the back seat behind Watto and Obi-Wan, her lead secured to a handgrip while the wind whistled loudly in her ears and tore at her braid as they sped across the desert.

* * *

The black pit in Ani's chest didn't go away. Once he'd cried himself out, it sat on him, as heavy as the marks on his back, reminding him that he was useless. A bad slave, a bad child, who couldn't help anybody.

Artoo tried to distract him. He beeped and whirred and nudged at the half-built scanner on the floor in front of him, but it was no good.

"Stop it!" He shouted at the droid after the hundredth time. "It won't work, stupid!" He scattered the unused parts on the floor with a satisfying sweep of his hand. It didn't make the scanner any less complete, but something loosened in his chest, if only for a moment, before he choked back up again.

Beeping, Artoo whirled on his wheels as if to go search the junk in Ani's room again.

"Just stop it!" he shouted, his chest tight, anger filling up the rest of his pores. "I don't have any, okay? Why won't you listen? All I've got are D3s and this is going to need something at least as small as a D8, and I don't have those! Looking again won't change that!"

Artoo wasn't giving up though, beeping in a tone Ani was pretty sure meant they'd just have to get some, which made his blood boil all the harder because Artoo was a stupid droid who didn't get it. Stupid, stupid, stupid, which is what Ani was too for even thinking he could make a scanner and have it work, but he was just a stupid, useless kid who couldn't do anything right.

"Shut up shut up shut up!" His voice hurt, and his back hurt from his arms wanting to throw things. "This was a dumb idea and I'm dumb for trying! There's no way to get D8s. No one carries them because they're too small and D6s are what real people use, not stupid people on stupid ships, who are going to leave anyway, so what's the point!" 

He crashed his fist through the parts on the floor again, taking a vicious pleasure when he hit the scanner too. Something popped, and Artoo bleeped furiously at him. The droid rolled forward again and scooped the scanner far enough away that Ani couldn't reach it amid all the sorts of other junk on the floor. 

The pressure behind his eyes and in his chest didn't stop. He could feel it clawing to get out and Ani wanted to let it, wanted to let it sweep over him and destroy everything because everything had been destroyed already. He thrashed out again and again, and his throat stung like his shoulders did when the clawing thing burst free with a scream. The air all around him was shivering, buzzing over his skin and then under and down into his bones.

"Ani! Ani!" 

Ani ignored Grandmother, but that only worked until there was nothing else to hit, and the fire on his back overcame the fire in his chest.

"Oh, Ani," she said, stumping over to him when the shiver in the air settled with the crash of dropped things, and his scream turned into a hoarse sob. She sat beside him on the bed and gathered him into her arms as gently as she could so he could press his face into the lap of her tunic.

"It's not fair," he finally managed when even his tears had run dry. He'd wasted so much water, his gut twinged with guilt. 

"No," Grandmother said. "No, it is rarely fair."

Across the room, Artoo made a hesitant series of beeps. Ani stared at him, at the red light of his ocular input, unable to interpret the Binary and too empty to try. His head ached and his chest felt as dry and bare as the Dune Sea.

"What if he's really gone?" he asked, not taking his eyes from Artoo.

"Then we will say good-bye, and pray for his return, and continue on," Grandmother said in a steady voice. Ani remembered a little, maybe someone telling him those words when his Mom was taken away. He'd cried then too, and Obi-Wan hadn't said anything about his tears then either. He'd held Ani through the good-bye ceremony they'd held for her.

"What about me?" 

"Aishass will take you. Or Zarrai."

Artoo beeped again, rolling forward. His clamping arm was extended with the frame of the incomplete scanner between the pincers.

Ani turned his head away, but Artoo only beeped and whirred more insistently.

"What's this?" Grandmother asked. "Ani? What's he have there?" 

"Nothing that works," he said despairingly. 

Artoo's beeping turned scolding, and he chattered as he came up beside him, demanding that Ani take the stupid scanner. Above his head, Grandmother made a sound through her teeth. 

Reluctantly Ani grabbed it as Artoo shoved it at him, the dumb pit of failure curling round his heart like his fingers curled into fists. "I wanted—I thought—he brought these parts, for finding the explosive chips, but we're missing some so it's useless now and it was a dumb idea anyway." 

He made to toss it to the floor, but Grandmother's hand caught his. Her hands felt their way over his to trace the scanner's shape.

"What idea was this?" she asked a moment later. Ani tilted his head a little, frowning. She didn't sound mad, so even though he felt stupid, he told her.

"I thought if I could finish it, I could go with Mister Qui-Gon and save Obi-Wan and Padmé. But he doesn't want me to go with him. He doesn't even want to free us," he said, feeling the unfairness of it all build up again in his chest.

"I don't think it is his spirit that is unwilling to help," Grandmother said. 

"Then why didn't he take me with him?" 

"And trigger your tracker again before you are healed from this beating?" Grandmother said sharply. "Have you had cloth in your ears these past days? Ekkreth does not walk out the front door."

"This isn't a story! This is serious!" Ani snapped.

"Of course it's serious!" Grandmother replied sharply, surprising Ani into silence. He'd never in his entire life heard Grandmother raise her voice to anyone. "Our stories are serious. Or do you think there is another reason we remind ourselves that we are people and that escape is possible?"

Her hand brushed over his head, gentle where her words had been sharp. In her other hand, she gestured with the boxy scanner, free wires dangling in front of his face. "You've started telling a story, Anakin."

"But it doesn't work!" 

"Not yet. When Ekkreth saw the people enslaved in pits with chains, did they get them out right away?"

"No." Ani frowned, not understanding. "They disguised themselves as a rich slaveowner and talked to Overseer."

"And once they knew what bound them, did they free them right away?"

"No, they went back to the desert children and got help . . ." Ani said, grasping at what she was getting at. His gaze fell on the droid next to him. "They get help to figure out how to free them. Artoo, he brought the parts we really needed. But it still doesn't work! He didn't have a D8 converter and it won't work without one!"

"And what did the Skywalker do when they found more slaves bound by tighter chains?" 

"It doesn't matter what they did!" Ani said frustrated. Ekkreth wasn't here. They weren't real.

"They found another who could help," Grandmother said, refusing to stop. "They would perhaps find someone with the means to find or buy this part you need."

Ani thought about that. She could only mean the Jedi. "But Mister Qui-Gon left already. He won't let me go with him! Even if I'm free, Obi-Wan said he wasn't going to help free us, even if he could." 

"Perhaps so. He is an offworlder, wanting offworld things with his ship and the girl he protects. He might be sad for the rest of us, even as he lifts no finger to help. He is no Skywalker, Ani. But you are."

"That's just my name," Ani said, feeling like he didn't deserve it.

"A Skywalker and a Luckmaker," Grandmother went on without pausing. "So perhaps, if you ask, you'll get lucky and before he leaves the Jedi will fetch you what you need to break your own chains."

Artoo made a pair of beeps that seemed to say he thought she had the right idea. Ani wasn't sure he thought it would work, but he wanted it to. He wanted it so badly every inch of him yearned for it. 

When Grandmother held out the scanner to him, he reached out and took it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story referenced by Grandmother is [The Slave Who Makes Free](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12929895) by Fialleril
> 
> The idea of goodbye rituals for slaves who are sold away is part of Fialleril's world-building.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading and welcome new readers! I'm slow at responding to comments but know that I appreciated each everyone one of them, short and long, as well as all your kudos. I'm so happy everyone's enjoying the story so far!

Watto made Obi-Wan pilot the speeder out of Mos Espa, shouting a hundred curses at him about his good-for-nothing disloyalty and if he knew what was good for him he'd fly faster. 

After the threats to Ani that Watto had yelled in his face after his fight with the duneclaw, Obi-Wan had obeyed as fast as he was able, hadn't questioned him, despite the terrible feeling growing in his chest. 

The trip to Mos Eisley was not one he'd ever made before, but the speeder was programmed with the route. The on-board navigation guided their course through the eastern canyon lands. It was a three-hour journey, and they'd make it by second sunset, but only just. 

As they descended between the first canyon walls, Obi-Wan didn't know whether to hope raiders were waiting to ambush them or not.

Watto hadn't said anything directly, but slaves who went to Mos Eisley rarely came back. That thought spun around and around in his head. Did Watto intend to sell him? He must intend to sell Padmé. Obi-Wan thought up a dozen fates for the girl in Tatooine's largest spaceport, each worse than the last, as his thoughts shied away from his own possible fate like sand swirling in a storm. 

But three hours was a long time to sit in a speeder, even with the attention he had to spare to keep the speeder on course. He had more than enough time for his thoughts to latch on to the possibilities. 

Obi-Wan's worst fear loomed larger and larger until he could no longer ignore it.

He was never going to see Ani again. 

The thought came with a certainty he couldn't shake. He'd gone one step too far for Watto and now he would be sold along with Padmé, far enough away from Ani that he might as well be on another planet. He'd failed. All because he was a coward who couldn't face watching the Jedi die or face trying to kill him. He'd failed Ani and Shmi, betrayed everything he was for everything he used to be. 

He was so stupid, but he honestly hadn't thought Watto would go so far. Even after the fight, when Watto had been yelling at him and swatting him with his baton, his master had talked of cutting his rations and punishing Ani. Regular threats. Nothing abnormal in the scheme of things. It wasn't until after they'd made a sharp detour to the bounty office that something had made Watto change his mind. 

As the speeder ate up the distance to Mos Eisley, out of the corner of his eye Obi-Wan kept an eye on Watto's hand—the hand that held the slave control stick in his lap. He could just make out the green light that meant Ani's tracker was sending the proper signal. 

He at least was safe. For now. Probably spitting mad and terrified—Obi-Wan swallowed down the memory of the night they realized that Shmi wasn't coming home—but alive.

Whether he'd meant to or not, he'd betrayed Ani. In his mind's eye, he saw Ani's face as it was two days ago, when he'd been so angry about Obi-Wan not wanting him to watch the fights. So angry at being left behind, left alone. Obi-Wan understood that fear in his bones, that fear of not knowing what was happening, that at any moment the people you loved would be snatched away.

And here he was, being snatched away. It tore at him, clawing at his insides that it was all his fault. He'd tried to do the right thing to save Qui-Gon so he could save Padmé, who was important enough to the Jedi that he would break his promise to help get Ani away from this forsaken rock. Obi-Wan had made sure the Jedi survived the arena for the chance he'd tell the Jedi Council about them and come back for them. Ani might still have that chance, but it was over for him. 

Obi-Wan was such a fool.

The three-hours passed, nothing but sand and canyons and wind too loud to speak over once the speeder hit full speed. Obi-Wan's sore muscles were stiff by the time they descended the canyon valley toward Mos Eisley, the city lit up with lights like stars had fallen to the ground. The second sun sank toward the horizon as they approached, and Obi-Wan switched on the speeder's running lights for the last leg to the outskirts.

Watto waved at the main thoroughfare, stirring from the stillness he'd kept during the ride. "We want docking bay 53," he said, tapping the navi-computer controls to hook into the Mos Eisley public system. Obi-Wan glanced at the display when the map popped up and reduced speed so he wouldn't hit any drunk spacers in the street.

Like Mos Espa, Mos Eisley was a city that didn't sleep. The cantinas were busy, and once the day's work was done the dealing began, as active in the cold desert night as in the daylight. 

The hundreds of hangars were no exception. They lay scattered around the city, whose buildings and commerce had grown and filled the spaces in between them. When they reached docking bay 53, a weary hangar manager hailed them. Watto did the talking and paid the manager, and then they were waved through.

In the backseat, Padmé gasped when they entered the hangar. The ship parked there was sleek and had once been shiny before Tatooine's desert had painted over it in dust: a mid-class yacht that could transport twenty people easy. Obi-Wan didn't recognize the make—he was Watto's muscle and not particularly interested in the ships he pulled apart or put back together. Ani was the one who fell in love with anything that could fly. 

But from Padmé's expression, this ship was the famed Nubian she'd arrived on. The ship she had run off to with Ani. Obi-Wan's dread only intensified at the sight of it. It wasn't supposed to be here. More was going on than Watto simply recouping his losses in a slave sale.

After they pulled to a stop, Watto tugged Padmé out of the speeder. Without instructions, Obi-Wan kept his seat, feeling none too comfortable as the Nubian's ramp lowered and a being in a billowing black-hooded cloak descended.

Obi-Wan didn't think. He was already tightly holding his mental shields from the long journey with Watto by his side, but the malicious tenor of the Force was strong enough that he could taste ashes from where he was. He swallowed hard, his tongue dry as the sensation washed over him, as familiar as his darkest nightmares, of waking horrors that had tempted him to _reach_ for the strength and power to wreak vengeance on Depur. 

All of that zipped through Obi-Wan between one breath and the next, while he watched Watto tug Padmé closer. Watto shouted a greeting to the newcomer, but Obi-Wan didn't hear it through his growing horror. This was who Watto intended to sell Padmé to, a being so foul they should never be allowed custody of anyone helpless in their grasp.

Padmé tried to resist, tugging against her restraints and succeeding in yanking Watto back a half-foot in the air. The being trotted down the last of the ramp, his hand rising, and that was when Obi-Wan stopped thinking. 

There was no time to think. He acted.

"Padmé!" he shouted, waving his arm to move her out of the way as his other hand powered up the speeder to full throttle. Simultaneously, two pieces of luck were in his favor: Padmé _moved_ , thrown to the side and out of the way, and the speeder didn't stall as it jumped forward toward the cloaked being.

Surprise was on his side as well, but the cloaked being was quick and jumped into an impossible backflip out of the way. Obi-Wan threw out his hand toward him, _pushing_ , throwing the speeder into reverse. Watto's winged presence had dodged the speeder, and now he dodged again as it flew backward, but Obi-Wan was reaching for Padmé who was already scrambling to her feet and running toward him.

Watto yelled, fumbling at his belt. Obi-Wan risked taking his hand off the controls long enough to _push_ him too. His heart hammered a thousand beats per minute because that was his life Watto was trying to end, Ani's life too maybe, and he was a dead man, a dead man, a dead man, and Padmé was dead too, he'd shown Depur his secret and now Depur would kill everyone he loved—

But Padmé dodged around to grab at Watto; the push had thrown him hard enough his wings couldn't keep up and he'd tumbled to the ground. 

Then the black-cloaked being was back, a smothering presence that nearly crushed Obi-Wan without touching him, the deadly hum of laser energy bursting forth in his hand.

A lightsaber—red.

Obi-Wan reacted, throwing his hands out toward the being in desperation, met with resistance—

"Padmé!" he yelled again. Then she was there, throwing herself over the side and into the speeder. They couldn't wait.

He flipped the port thruster to make a hard spin. His hands moved automatically, knowing what needed to be done before his mind bothered to think it. Time seemed to slow, enough for him to take in their surroundings—the hangar walls, the ship, the gate. Once the turn was completed he shifted into gear and pressed the accelerator.

He barely saw the open hangar gate and its manager throwing herself out of the way before they were back on the streets of Mos Eisley, speeding away. 

Terror filled Obi-Wan, but he didn't stop. He was dead, so dead, once Watto regained his feet.

"Where are we going?" Padmé righted herself behind him, and was yelling in his ear to be heard over the wind. 

Obi-Wan sped through the streets, dodging pedestrians and banthas like he was Ani in a podrace. They wouldn't be able to keep this up for long. They were drawing too much attention, but they had to get out of the city, away from people because he was about to explode.

Obi-Wan felt like two people: the one piloting the speeder and the one who was about to die. He was going to explode and he'd never see Ani or Shmi or anyone ever again. 

Part of his heart cracked at that thought, but it was the right thing—it was done—he couldn't let Padmé fall into the hands of that monster. That being was the one Qui-Gon had talked about, a user of the Dark side of the Force. A being who'd embraced what Obi-Wan had spent his life finding a reason to hold at bay. 

Feeling all that terrible power made his stomach roil in protest. Or maybe that was the knowledge that he was going to die at any moment.

"You should jump out!" he yelled at Padmé with far more calm than he felt. He kept the speeder on the main thoroughfare, but it had enough twists and turns that he could pause for a moment, give her a chance to disappear into the city. He wouldn't be able to tell the Jedi what happened, but she would at least have a chance.

"What? No!" 

"You have to. Watto's going to—"

"I took the slave controller!" Padmé's hand thrust past Obi-Wan's face, and between driving the speeder, his panic at having defied Depur, and the bad light, it took a moment for her words to catch up with the cylinder she held in her hand. 

Two steady green lights stared back at him.

Obi-Wan's mind went blank. There was no relief. He wasn't sure he really believed what he was seeing. But when Padmé gripped his shoulder and shook, the sensation from his sore muscles shook him out of his stupor.

"Find us a place to hide and let's ditch this speeder. We're attracting too much attention."

Obi-Wan could only nod and obey, his heart still hammering as he slowed the speeder down and he found them an alley to park in.

Other than the control stick, they didn't have anything to carry but they needed to get Padmé's binders off of her sooner than later. Mos Eisley was no doubt as awash in mercenaries and slavers as Mos Espa. Obi-Wan scoured the darkness for them as they crossed the street into another alley. 

Under his skin he felt the phantom itch of his slave chip. Watto didn't need the control stick to have it triggered; he could have it triggered at a bounty office. They might not have long. 

The sick taste of the Dark-user still stuck in the back of his throat, and he wondered if that meant he'd be chasing them down, too. He took a deep breath and tried to steady himself, tried to tighten his mental shields. While life of all kinds made up the fabric of the Force, now that the Dark-user knew what he was Obi-Wan could tip their location if he wasn't careful. Deep breaths helped, but they didn't quite calm his nerves. 

He'd used the Force and his luck in front of Watto. The Dark-user must have a bounty out on Padmé. He was a runaway. 

Obi-Wan was a runaway, he'd taken Padmé with him. They were in a strange city with no friends or any idea where the slave quarter was. 

He was going to be sick. His hands were shaking.

"Obi-Wan!" Padmé kept the bitten-off call low from where she was up ahead. That was when he realized he'd stopped moving. 

She was going to get gutted and die a slow death in front of him while he tried to hold her insides inside. The image was bright and clear, a vision and a memory both. Black spots blotted his sight of her in the alley and his chest hurt. He'd killed her just as surely as if he had wielded the knife himself.

"Go!" The word came out strangled. 

For some reason, instead of leaving him as she ought, Padmé came back. One minute she was at the other end of the alley and the next she was kneeling next to him. He wasn't sure how he'd gotten there but his forehead was on the ground, and when she touched his bowed back with both her hands, he about jumped out of his skin.

"Obi-Wan, what's wrong? We have to keep moving." Padmé's voice was quick and clipped, quiet but full of worry.

"Can't."

"You can. You must. They'll find us. We have to hide."

"They're going to kill you," he told the sand. He kept expecting her touch to turn to electricity through him. He'd used the Force. In front of Watto. Bad, bad, so bad.

"No." Padmé's hands were bound together but she didn't let that stop her from shoving Obi-Wan's shoulder till he sat up. "No. We got away. We're going to stay free of them. Do you hear me, Obi-Wan?" Her words were quiet but had turned firm in their conviction. "Look at me."

He obeyed. Padmé's eyes glittered in the low light, dark and unyielding. Determination in its purest form.

"We're going to stay free," she repeated. "No one's going to kill me, and if they try they will regret it. I've seen you fight. Get me a blaster and between you and me they won't see us coming. Do you hear me?"

Slowly, Obi-Wan felt the fear recede at her words, like she was fighting it off just by telling it to go. She squeezed his shoulder, and he found it easier to breathe, so he took another breath, and another, and nodded for her.

"A blaster. I can get you a blaster," he said, latching onto the task.

"Good. Add something to get these binders off and a safe place for us to hide to your list. Maybe a way to steal back my ship, while you're at it."

Obi-Wan smiled faintly. "And find it a hyperdrive, I suppose."

"It would help." Padmé grinned back, like a light in the darkness. The rest of his blind fear washed away in her presence. Not all of the fear. There was plenty of that left in Obi-Wan's veins, but it was an accustomed amount, a weight he had carried for years. 

He took another deep breath to help it settle back on his shoulders. He needed to think.

Blaster, binders, shelter. "We need to find the slave quarter," he told her. 

She helped him to his feet, and blood rushed back into his fingers and feet, making him feel dizzy for a moment before it passed. But it did pass, and they got moving again. When they reached the end of the alley, Padmé looked at him.

"Which way?" she asked as if he knew his way around this city like it was his own. He almost laughed, hysteria crowding out his calm for a moment before he swallowed it down. Her faith in him was well-intentioned but overly optimistic. The alley continued across the street that extended to either side before curving around a bend, and he had no idea where any of the paths led.

Obi-Wan forced himself to take a breath and actually think. Just because he didn't know which way to go, he wasn't necessarily lost. Now that his panic had passed, he could focus on what he was good at. He was good at being lucky. 

He closed his eyes for a moment to feel which way was best, and when he had it—that slight tug, that faintest breeze in his hair—he opened his eyes again and stepped out into the street and across to the next alley, certain.

"This way."

* * *

Padmé was glad Obi-Wan knew where they were going because she was lost within three twists and turns through the sprawling back streets of Mos Eisley. 

She thought she'd been keeping track of their direction until they'd run into the main street again to the east, when it should have been to the south. Obi-Wan's explanation that Mos Eisley was famous for its main throughway curving through the city like a sand snake distorted her mental map such that, by the time they crossed it a third time, she was hopelessly turned around.

"How much farther?" she asked, as they took a breather at the next intersection. 

It was full dark now, and the heat of the day was blessedly cooling off, unleashing Mos Eisley's night life. They weren't currently at the main street, but this side-street was busier at the moment: a pair of cantinas across the way spilled their drunken patrons out their doors—patrons who'd taken it upon themselves to set up an impromptu pit fight in the middle of the street.

"I don't know." Obi-Wan's attention was held by the mercenaries roaring at the pair of fighters. One was armored and clearly much more sober than the other, a rodian who kept swinging and missing at his head. "Wait here," he said.

"What? Obi-Wan!" Padmé hissed, keeping her voice down even as he ignored her and began ambling right up the street as if he belonged. Padmé admired gutsy moves, but this one bordered on stupidity.

Obi-Wan had no weapon of his own, and being human his stature was shorter than most of the mercenaries around him—a ready target if he was noticed. Padmé wanted to run after him and drag him back into cover, but with her binders she would draw the very attention they wanted to avoid.

But as Padmé watched, fearful, his approach went largely unnoticed. When he was close enough to the circle, he started trailing one of the duros who appeared to be collecting bets. To Padmé's astonishment, he continued to move through the outside of the crowd in the duros's wake without anyone seeming to bother with him. Those who noticed him looked away immediately and continued on as if they hadn't seen him. 

It brought to mind the Jedi tricks that Master Jinn had used to secure their limited funds from the money lender, and on the slave catchers that had cornered her. Telling others what to think as easily as saying aloud. 

If Padmé hadn't just seen Obi-Wan use what looked an awful lot like the Force to help them escape, she might not have believed what her eyes were telling her. Master Jinn had never said as much to her, but she knew something about Obi-Wan had drawn his interest. That he could do Jedi tricks hadn't occurred to her.

Obi-Wan was obscured by the crowd now, but she could still see part of his beige tunic amongst the darker colors favored by the mercenaries. Not long after that, he emerged from the other side and turned back toward the alley, holding something in his hands. 

He was a hundred meters away from her, walking as if he owned the street. The impromptu fight was fast coming to an end, and half the crowd was working itself to a frenzy as the sober mercenary finally took out the drunk one and started pounding him into the ground.

Padmé saw the movement before she really registered it. One armored human twisting this way and that, as if looking for something. Her realization timed with his as he looked over his shoulder and saw Obi-Wan walking away. Whatever Jedi magic he'd worked didn't hold.

The mercenary shouted. Padmé stepped out into the alley far enough to scream, "Run!" at Obi-Wan, who did so without ever looking back.

Her heart nearly stopped when the crowd turned as one like a wave or a beast who scented new prey. They took up the cry and instead of one angry mercenary, thirty gave chase.

"Thief!"

Obi-Wan sprinted the remaining distance. Blaster fire chased him. Miraculously—or not—none of it hit him by the time his body slammed into the wall beside Padmé, absorbing his speed. 

He grabbed her elbow and they ran as fast as they could down the back street to the closest narrow alley. Whatever faint hope Padmé had of keeping track of where they were truly disappeared as she ran blindly after Obi-Wan, trusting each turn he made. 

One corner they rounded turned them into blaster fire, Padmé just barely ducking the sizzle of shots. She whirled away and ran after Obi-Wan who lead her down another alley as they rapidly retreated. 

The pack of mercenaries had split up, she realized when she heard yelling and shots to her left. Those more sober gave proper chase, maneuvering to flank them, while the drunkards fell behind.

More shots sounded, accompanied by the flash of blaster bolts out of the mouth of the street they were passing. She ducked. Obi-Wan hissed words Padmé assumed were Huttese and yanked them in another direction. A blind alley, and this time it was Padmé cursing. Their luck had run out.

But Obi-Wan kept going, while she looked over her shoulder. "Come on!" he said gesturing at one of the walls like he meant to go up it.

"We can't make that!" Padmé protested.

Obi-Wan took two steps toward her, shoving whatever it was he'd stolen into the back of his belt. "I can. I'll pull you up after," he said, taking her elbow and urging her to the wall.

The mercenaries were almost at their alley. Obi-Wan didn't leave her time to agree. He ran at the lowest roof, which was easily double his height, and leapt higher than he should have been able to. His fingers caught on the lip of the roof, and with a little scrambling, he got himself up.

Padmé didn't let herself think about it. She leapt or she got captured, and she refused to get captured. She ran for the wall, running against one corner to boost herself an extra bit up the other. 

It happened so fast—she shouldn't have made it, she was far too short—but then Obi-Wan caught her raised and bound forearms and nearly yanked them out of their sockets hauling her up after him. Her injured shoulder burned like fire at the abrupt movements, but she bit her lip to keep from crying out and put both it and her other aches out of her mind. 

They had to keep moving.

On the roof, they crouched low to keep their profile below the waist-high lip, scuttling along the edge. They jumped to the next roof and then the next. The sprawling nature of the city and its odd-shaped buildings built for repelling heat worked in their favor, the domes giving them plenty of cover as they ran. 

When they reached an overhang above an alley that connected two buildings, Obi-Wan stopped and pulled her into a crouch beside him. With two sides it was like a little cup in the sky. Unless someone looked down on them from above, they were hidden from view for the moment.

Both of them were breathing hard from running, but they tried to keep it quiet. Padmé took a few deep calming breaths to try and slow her heart rate. Where her side was pressed up against Obi-Wan in the small space, she could feel him doing the same. 

In the city below, she strained her ears to hear their pursuers. Shouts and footfalls, doors opening and closing as they forced their way into unsecured homes. She and Obi-Wan held their breath when they arrived at the houses below them, hardly daring to breathe when they moved on. They waited. When the footfalls faded, and then the next ones faded too and the streets below them calmed again, Padmé dared look over the lip of the overhang, but saw none of the mercenaries. 

"I think it's clear," she whispered.

Obi-Wan sat with his back to the lip, eyes closed. "It is," he said after a moment with the same certainty that had guided them through the city.

Padmé eased back and let her head rest against the lip. Now that she was sitting still, her wrists ached from running with binders on, her shoulders were sore, and her previous wound burned under her shirt. 

She had a dozen questions running through her mind about the man beside her, but she didn't know how to ask them, or even if she should.

"Here," he interrupted her thoughts, shifting around so he was partly facing her, legs crossed in front of him. It took a moment in the dim light to see that he held something in his hand, but then he was taking her elbow again and tugging her hands toward him. A magnetic binder release key. 

With a snick, the magnets holding her wrists together as well as the cuffs released their hold on her.

"Ow!" Padmé hissed as blood returned full force to her hands and fingers, sending along shards of painful pinpricks as she clenched and unclenched her hands.

"Easy, here." Obi-Wan took one of her hands in both of his, squeezing and pushing at the same time from her wrists to her fingertips. The sensation helped ease the pins and needles. After a few passes, he switched hands. His grip was strong yet gentle, the first kind touch she'd had in days.

There was no time to be sentimental about it, however. She kept her voice professional when she said, "I suppose that was worth nearly getting caught."

He let out a light chuckle that was more a breath than a sound. "It's not all I got off them," he said, reaching behind him and pulling out a small blaster. He offered it up to her. "As requested."

The grin that spread across Padmé's face felt wonderful. It was a fairly standard model with single-beam aiming and more heft to it that she was used to, but it would do. 

"You had this and didn't shoot back?" she said as she tested the grip.

Obi-Wan shrugged and kept his eyes on the weapon. "I've never used one before. It's forbidden to even handle a blaster. I couldn't."

Studying his face, Padmé thought of him saying, "I can't," in that first alley. Nothing had prevented him from running then except some unknown terror deep in his head. A trauma response. She'd read about them, and after witnessing what slave owners considered a fair punishment for Ani, a boy—well, she hadn't been expecting it but she couldn't say she was surprised.

"Lucky for you I'm a very good shot," she said lightly. He glanced up then, and she thought she saw the corner of his mouth lift, but it was hard to tell in the low light. "You just keep doing whatever you're doing, and I'll handle shooting anyone who gets in our way."

"Deal," he said with what was definitely a smile.

It emboldened Padmé enough to ask, "What exactly _are_ you doing? It was like they didn't see you, and the wall . . ." She trailed off when he looked away again, this time clearly uncomfortable with her questions. She asked anyway, knowing it could be unkind, but it could also be important to their escape. "Are you a Jedi?"

"No." Obi-Wan's answer was immediate. His follow-up came slower. "But I might have been. Beyond children's games, I'm not trained to use the Force. I've spent as much of my life a slave as I ever was free. All that," he waved his hand vaguely at the city, "going unnoticed, being nimble in the pits—that's all luck I've learned to use." 

The expression on his face was knowing. He called it a different name than the Jedi, and Padmé wondered if it was easier that way when trying to wield something you didn't know how to use, when it could be fickle like luck was, turning for you or against you in equal measure.

They didn't stay long after that. Keeping to the rooftops for a few more blocks, they eventually shimmied down a corner wall of a junkyard and back into the streets of Mos Eisley. 

They set a slower pace so they wouldn't look like anything other than a pair of humans late home from the cantina. Padmé already had a dozen lies about being stuck dragging her drunk brother home before he was robbed anymore blind than he already was, but Obi-Wan's good fortune was with them and they encountered no one who paid them any attention. They'd left the cantinas behind and instead navigated between closed businesses with lights on in the apartment windows at ground level.

When they reached the slave quarter, it was distinguishable only by the multi-levels of doors at ground level and higher. Padmé didn't notice at first, but then Obi-Wan was pointing for them to turn again down another lane with more rows upon rows of pre-fabricated housing units. It was much bigger than the slave quarter in Mos Espa.

"Do you think anyone will help us?" she finally asked, wondering which door they should knock on and if these people would be as skittish as Obi-Wan about breaking rules imposed on them.

"Yes. We don't turn our people away." Obi-Wan had no doubt. He scanned the housing on both sides of the street, a frown on his face.

"What is it?" Padmé asked.

"I don't know. Something."

"Something bad?"

"No . . . I don't think so. Something familiar." Obi-Wan's gaze had settled on one of the doors on the second story. "That one."

"You're sure?"

"Well, I was going to knock on the first door we found and ask where an elder lived." He glanced at her and shrugged. "Might as well be that one, don't you think?"

Padmé didn't have an argument against his suggestion. With mercenaries, the zabrak, and Watto potentially sounding the alarm on them at any moment, they had few choices in allies. Not that it seemed she would have much say. Obi-Wan bounded up the stairs two at a time, and then hesitated before pressing the chime. The night held its breath for the long minute it took for the door to open.

A human woman stood on the other side, backlit by the interior lighting. She had dark hair braided back and wore the same type of tunic common among the slaves, though hers was darker colored than most.

To her surprise, Obi-Wan didn't launch right into their plea for help or ask after these elders he thought would take them in. He froze, and so did the woman, staring at him.

"Hi," Padmé broke the awkward silence, worried that Obi-Wan was having another trauma response. It was enough to break the spell.

"Obi-Wan," the woman whispered.

"Shmi," he greeted her in return. Then, to Padmé's astonishment, they fell into a rib-cracking embrace talking over one another, laughing and crying, like two lost souls who had finally found one another.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is going up on Juneteenth, June 19 2020. [Juneteenth](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Juneteenth) is the day in 1865 that the enslaved African Americans in Texas learned of their freedom at the end of the Civil War. It's a day that celebrates the end of slavery in the United States, even though it still took till December of that year for it to become true reality. 
> 
> However, slavery is still with us. It's in the scars it has left on African Americans, indigenous, and other people of color in the US, the racism entrenched in our society that makes everything harder for BIPOC, the racism in our police forces that routinely murder and arrest black folks at rates not seen in the white population, and the literal slavery endured by prison labor that largely rests on black Americans. 
> 
> I started writing this story in 2018. It's about an enslaved people, but with white protagonists in this Star Wars universe. One of the things that drew me to the Tatooine Slave Culture stories is that they humanize and center the lives of the enslaved beyond Anakin and Shmi. I'm white, so I can only hope that I have treated this subject with the gravity it deserves.
> 
> One thing my beta reader sent me in the last week was a google doc about changing the language around how to talk about slavery to humanize the people who endured it. It's aimed at academic writing, but I thought I would share it anyway. As writers and readers, we all understand the importance of language, and changing how we talk and write about slavery is one way to shift the culture of how we think about it. [Writing about "Slavery"? This Might Help](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1A4TEdDgYslX-hlKezLodMIM71My3KTN0zxRv0IQTOQs/edit?ts=5eea51c7) I have used a lot of the words they suggest not to use in this story and I'm thinking about what I ought to do about that.
> 
> Black lives matter. Our society has work to do to rectify the mass injustices that have been perpetuated against black Americans since the first Juneteenth. Fandom has work to do to root out racism in our spaces and listen to black fans and fans of color about their experiences and what we as a community can do to make things better. I don't fully know where this story falls into that discussion, but it's something I'm thinking about, and that I want to do better on in the future.

Obi-Wan hadn't known much joy in his life, but he thought now he might understand what it meant. Shmi was alive. She was whole. And she was right in front of him. 

She was solid and real in his arms when they hugged, and the light scent of her soap blended with her own sent his soul reeling back four years to the last morning they'd had together. Their ownership had just been transferred to Watto after he won them in a bet a few days before, and they had spent less than that in the Mos Espa slave quarter apartment. By the end of the day, Watto had made twice Shmi's listed worth selling her to a ship dealer in Mos Eisley—he and Ani had barely had a chance to say goodbye. And here she was.

She ushered them in and closed the door, never letting go of Obi-Wan. He didn't think he could let go either, even if he'd wanted to.

"What are you doing here? Anakin? Is he with you?" Shmi asked in the language of the slaves once their shock wore off. 

Obi-Wan sent a quick glance to Padmé and hurried to introduce her in Basic. "This is Padmé, an offworlder. This is Shmi Skywalker, Ani's mother," he said to Padmé, whose eyes widened even as a smile broke over her face. 

He opened his mouth to explain everything else, and then stopped, not knowing where to begin. So much had happened in the last week alone.

"We need help." Padmé effortlessly stepped up beside him. As she explained about her ship and needing repairs and now needing to recover it from the zabrak who'd taken her friends hostage, Obi-Wan watched Shmi take it all in, as calmly as she faced everything. Padmé only sketched out their immediate situation, and when she was done, Shmi's eyes fell on Obi-Wan again.

"You attacked Watto? And ran away?" Simple questions, but Obi-Wan had to swallow hard before he nodded.

"I had to. The zabrak, you have to understand, he was powerful and Dark. A Force-user. I've never felt anything like it, not even when those sisters came. I couldn't let him take Padmé. And she—" he glanced over at the girl, "—knocked Watto out and took the control stick."

Shmi's eyes widened ever so slightly when Padmé pulled the slim cylinder out of her shirt. Her eyes fixed on the pair of green lights.

"That's Ani," Obi-Wan knew exactly what she was thinking. "He's alive. He's—Watto punished him after he tried to help Padmé get her ship back. He crossed the line, but he's alive and whole. It was a whipping. Five strokes. But he'll be fine." He hated telling her, the sick feeling of letting her down curling through him, but she had to know and there was no getting around it.

Shmi's expression didn't falter, the mask she wore didn't crack, but Obi-Wan saw the alarm in her eyes, felt it in the air between them.

"He's still in Mos Espa?" Her grip on his elbow tightened.

"Yes, with Master Jinn," said Padmé.

"Who?" Shmi's voice was sharp. Padmé froze at the sudden force of her gaze.

Obi-Wan's heart rate spiked at the protective fire in her eye, feeling like he'd failed again, clumsy and unable to keep up. "Not a slave master," he explained quickly. "A Jedi."

"What?" Shmi glanced between the two of them for answers, her look expectant.

"Perhaps we should have started at the beginning," said Padmé.

It took a good twenty minutes to relate the happenings of the last few days. Obi-Wan stuck to the main events and glossed over the mixed-up feelings that had crashed over him with the Jedi's arrival. Padmé filled in the gaps, and when Shmi was caught up, said, "So you see we need help. We barely escaped Watto and the zabrak, and he's still after us. We need to retake my ship. We need a hyperdrive, and I need some way to get in touch with Master Jinn to tell him where we are."

"My master has a hyperdrive in stock, but unless you've the money, I can't help with the ship. I _can_ help with a comm unit," Shmi said. "But all that would have to wait for morning. Were you followed here?"

"I think we shook everyone," Obi-Wan said. "I don't know about the zabrak. I think we lost him among the mercenaries."

"There's nothing to be done for it now. We'll have to trust that you did." Shmi smiled grimly, letting Obi-Wan go at last. "I don't have much space but you are welcome in my home. Both of you." She nodded to Padmé too, and while Obi-Wan hadn't doubted it, it was still good to hear after the last few hours.

His body took her words as permission to be tired. A wave of exhaustion crashed through Obi-Wan, highlighting every ache from the fights that day and the mad race through the streets, following his luck and praying it wouldn't run out before they found safety. His legs and arms felt heavy, and he longed for nothing more than to sleep without interruption, even as he wanted to stay awake and ask Shmi a thousand questions. How was she? How was her master? Had she been well? Four years felt like a lifetime, and if he closed his eyes, Obi-Wan feared it all might be a fever dream.

Shmi's apartment was a different style from theirs in Mos Espa and much smaller. The room they stood in now was long and narrow, and held the kitchen appliances and a small two-person table that was cluttered with electronics much like theirs at home. Shmi had more shelves, piled with projects that would earn her a bit of currency on the side. One doorway led to a short hallway that could barely be called that. Her unit shared the 'fresher with the neighboring apartment, and Shmi showed Padmé how to secure the far door so she could clean up in the sonics.

Obi-Wan stepped into her small bedroom, which was fitted with two beds dug into the walls one atop the other. The bottom was set up as a workspace with a chair beside it, while the top one was the one she slept in. But what drew Obi-Wan's eye were the little sculptures on the shelves along the walls. 

She still made them, dozens of flowers and desert creatures and tiny figures shaped out of scrap metal and brightly colored glass. His eye fell on a tiny rollo, one of the beasts imported for the fighting pits, that had an even tinier figure petting its side, holding a small bundle in its arms. Obi-Wan felt his throat close up and he couldn't look away. 

He reached out but came short of touching it—it looked fragile even though it was made of metal—but even more precious was the memory. That was him, holding Ani as a baby. All of sixteen, he'd taken him down to the beast stables in Gardulla's Palace where he helped care for them before he was fighting full time. The rollo had been his favorite, a ferocious beast to look at, a fierce fighter that killed a good dozen challengers before she'd been killed in a fight a few years later, but at heart a creature that just wanted love and attention like they all did. 

Next to it on the shelf was another sculpture, a japor tree with two figures under it, and beside it, a sculpture of three figures around a folded glass fire. The whole shelf was filled with them. Like the rollo, Obi-Wan recognized some of the scenes. Others were fantastical or were stories brought to life. Not all of them had figures, but many of them did.

He sensed Shmi come up beside him, felt her fingers brush cautiously at his shoulder then grip him strongly. Her hand was warm and alive and it felt like a dream as she slowly moved her hand down his back to curl around his waist, leaning her head against his shoulder. They were almost of a height, and Obi-Wan tipped his head to rest against hers. Tears gathered in his eyes and he let them blink from his eyelashes and carry with them the knot that was tangled up in his chest. He still wasn't sure any of this was real.

"That's us," he said, his voice thick.

"I missed you," she said. "My heart broke when I was sold here. I didn't think I would be able to live—" Her voice cracked, and Obi-Wan turned to hug her again, wrapping his arms around shoulders that were as strong as they'd always been.

"We missed you," he said into her hair and felt her squeeze his middle. "It was so hard without you. Ani didn't understand what it meant when you didn't come back."

Shmi heaved a sigh that pressed against Obi-Wan, then stepped back from him. Her eyes were dark and solemn. "Tell me about him."

If four years felt like a lifetime for Obi-Wan, it was longer for a child. Ani had been five when Depur had taken Shmi from them. 

"He's about this tall now." Obi-Wan held a hand to the middle of his chest, "and his hair is long and shaggy and as sandy colored as the dunes. He's got a good heart. Sometimes a foolish one. He wants to help everyone he meets and it gets him into trouble." 

She'd heard about him going with Padmé, and now Shmi asked about the podracer. So Obi-Wan happily shifted to the day a year or so ago when he'd walked out back of their apartment to find Ani elbow deep in a pair of battered pod engines and had leapt to his feet with a well-rehearsed argument for why he should get to keep them and build a racing pod.

"He told me it would keep him out of trouble, and how could I say no to that?" Obi-Wan smiled at the memory. They settled across from each other on the floor by the bed, their knees keeping contact. "It mostly worked, until the end," he said, his smile turning wry. "I suppose it was better than him dying in an actual race."

"I'm dying just thinking about it," Shmi said. "Did Watto make him race often?"

"Three times." Obi-Wan closed his eyes briefly against the terror held in those memories. "You're lucky you didn't know. It was awful each time."

Shmi grabbed his hand and held on tight. "Tell me."

So Obi-Wan told her, all the details he could remember of each race, each crash. How his heart had nearly jumped out of his chest, and the relief he'd felt when Ani had walked away with no more than scratches, reliving the memories with Shmi the way they were meant to be lived. "He is so lucky," he said after the last story.

"Like you," Shmi said, reaching up to brush her knuckles against his neck where the shock collar scar was overlaid by a jagged claw scratch. "You didn't have this before," she said.

With anyone else, Obi-Wan might have looked away, self-conscious of the history on his skin. But Shmi was his closest friend. She'd been there for every fight he'd been entered in while at the Palace, every one he'd picked himself, every hurt inflicted on him outside of the pits. 

"Watto kept fighting me, too." He ducked his head, rubbing his thumb against the back of her hand. "I don't know whether I hate it or love it."

"You always were a fighter, even out of the pits," Shmi said.

"But I'm never fighting the right people." He took a shuddery breath. "And now that I have, I'm a runaway. I don't know what I'm going to do." He'd been ignoring the question of what was next since his panic in that first ally. 

"This girl and the Jedi. Will they take you with them?"

Obi-Wan ran a hand through his hair, the ever-present sand gritting across his scalp. "Probably. Maybe. I didn't part with the Jedi on the best of terms after the fights today. I don't know if he won. But if he did—he knows about me and Ani." But the gaping fear he felt wasn't that the Jedi might leave him behind. "I don't want to leave you and Ani."

Shmi didn't flinch when she told him, "You might have to."

"No."

"Obi-Wan." She tugged on his hand, pulling him forward until their foreheads rested against each other. "You could be free," she whispered in the air between them. "You could come back for us."

A selfish part of him wanted nothing more than freedom, even as it terrified him. But a deeper selfishness wanted all three of them free. Wanted their people free. 

Obi-Wan was so tired. He didn't have an answer that didn't cut him up inside.

"We'll have to escape first," he said, an answer and no answer. Their situation was precarious at best.

"You will," Shmi said.

Her choice of words didn't pass him unnoticed, but Obi-Wan didn't want to argue with her right now. He let himself rest against her, borrow a little from her well of strength, and vowed they'd figure out a way to take her with them.

* * *

Qui-Gon had planned to leave early the next morning. Once he'd persuaded Padmé and Obi-Wan's location out of the city bounty hunters the night before, he'd planned to be on his way as quickly as possible before the worst happened. 

But when he'd returned with the news well after dark to tell Ani and the other slaves what had happened, he'd found the boy stubbornly sitting up in Obi-Wan's bed, and every hair on the back of Qui-Gon's neck had stood on end.

The Force moved in its own time, his Master had told him when he was a padawan. He'd told his the same in turn many years ago. One must learn to pay attention and wait with no expectation other than to be open to the Force and with that would come clarity.

Qui-Gon had thought himself rather good at judging the flow of the Force's will, open to the paths laid before him.

But standing in that small room, with a wounded nine-year-old boy staring back, Qui-Gon had never felt his sense of urgency so divided. Padmé and his mission to Naboo needed him in Mos Eisley as soon as he could get there before a Darkness he felt like a shiver in his bones overtook them. Ani needed him to buy a D8 converter for a reason he would not disclose but which Qui-Gon could deduce, his presence shining brightly and unshielded in the Force. Both needed him. Both paths were open to him. 

Qui-Gon couldn't shake the feeling that he would fail one by helping the other.

He thought of his duty and his broken promise. He thought of Obi-Wan taking his place against the duneclaw to ensure his win of the prize money. 

In the end, it was the hour that decided his course of action. He was tired from the fights, his old bones aching, and he needed rest before he could help anyone. 

When he woke in the morning, listening to Aishass helping Ani to the 'fresher one painful step at a time, it wasn't hard to decide to take a small delay and hit the market before the speeder rental opened for the day.

"You came back." Ani looked up in surprise.

"I did." Qui-Gon shook sand from his poncho that had dusted him in the morning wind. He held out his purchases. "Your converter," he handed the one to Ani, "and bacta." He handed a bowl-sized container to Aishass who took it with no small amount of reverence. She and Grandmother shared a look between them, and when Qui-Gon returned to the kitchen she followed.

"Wait."

"I need to go," Qui-Gon said. "I'll do my best to help Obi-Wan as well, but—"

"Stay. Wait to take Ani with you," Aishass said, all but confirming what the boy was building from the small pile of electronics by the bed. 

Qui-Gon hesitated. Her dark eyes on him were as far from Obi-Wan's as they could get, but the question behind them was the same. He'd said no before. But less than two days later, everything had changed even though nothing had. Stay or go. Which was the right choice? Which path was the Force asking him to walk down?

"Please," said Aishass, and Qui-Gon found himself nodding.

"I can't spare long," he said.

"You won't need to," she replied.

He settled onto the bench at the back of the living space to wait. Crossing his legs, he tried to quiet his mind from the worry that intruded his thoughts at the delay. Meditation was a familiar comfort, but Qui-Gon had difficulty finding his calm center. 

After ten minutes, his quiet was disturbed when Aishass left, returning fifteen minutes later with a gaggle of younglings that she sat around the table with cups of water. They were reverent as they watched her pour it from the canisters Qui-Gon and Padmé had brought from their ship, whispering closely to one another, when Aishass urged them not to drink it too fast.

"All of it?" one of the pale green twi'lek girls asked, staring at Aishass with big black eyes that were waiting for a catch.

"All of it," Aishass confirmed, running a reassuring hand down the youngling's lekku, her returning smile steady and certain. "You'll need your strength later."

Watching them cherishing something so simple and mundane as a full glass of water to drink, the rest of Qui-Gon's attempt to meditate evaporated. Aishass didn't catch his focused look in her direction, her attention already behind her where Ani was shuffling into view with Grandmother and R2-D2.

His shirt was off, showing bony shoulders and sharp ribs, but the smile on his face was as blinding as the strength of him in the Force. He held his contraption in his hand and lifted it up to Aishass, who couldn't take her eyes off of it.

"What's that, Ani?" one of the human boys asked, sliding from his chair and approaching the older boy. The other children squirmed in their seats or followed, craning their heads to see.

"A way to be free," Ani said. He looked at Qui-Gon and pinned the Jedi with a searching gaze that cut Qui-Gon to his core. He knew then that he would be taking Ani with him when he left.

First, however, he stood to join them all in the kitchen as Aishass explained to the children that they had to be brave and quiet, but that they'd be free. They stared up at her with wide eyes for a moment, and then all of a sudden they were bouncing in glee. Aishass and Ani both looked at Qui-Gon over their heads, and Qui-Gon nodded to them, a steadiness settling in his chest that displaced his worry for Padmé and Obi-Wan and the Dark threat. 

He was here now, and here he would stay to see this through. "How can I help?"

Aishass nodded in return and picked up a sharpened knife from the counter. Grandmother lay a sewing kit on the table. Ani held the scanner in one hand and ran it down his opposite side to just below his ribs, stopping when it beeped. 

"My tracker's here," he said with no trace of fear on his serious face. 

Qui-Gon helped him to lie face-down on the table and held his hand while Aishass squatted down and prepared to make the cut. Bacta had been smeared over the red wounds on his back, large on his too small body. Grandmother set the container with the remaining bacta on the table and sat by Ani's head. She started telling a story to distract the younglings, while Qui-Gon spread his hand over the spot where the tracker was. He was no healer, and he couldn't feel more than a vague impurity on the inside of Ani's flesh. But now that he knew what to look for, he could perhaps help Aishass as she dug out Ani's chains.

In the end, Qui-Gon helped best by putting the children to sleep while Aishass took out their trackers. They were small, black things when the blood was wiped away, with an oblong explosive package attached to the receiver. Aishass collected all of them in a bowl, insistent that they remain intact until they could be safely buried in the desert just past the Slave Quarter. 

Grandmother went last, and then Aishass was handing Qui-Gon the knife to take out her tracker, asking to stay awake. She gasped, but held herself still, clutching the table that was streaked red-brown where it had been white.

The sleep Qui-Gon had put on the children and Grandmother wouldn't last long. He couldn't combat their pain for them and bacta could only do so much. Ani was already stirring by the time he was bandaging Aishass's wound.

"What will you do now?" Qui-Gon asked.

"Make for the desert and one of the homesteads that might help us," Aishass said. She sat on the table, her single leg folded to help her balance. "We'll wait for dark. Free as many as we can while we wait."

"And once you find a safe place?" Qui-Gon didn't imagine the missing children and their minders would be noticed right away, but adults expected at their masters' sides wouldn't be so fortunate.

Aishass glanced up and shrugged, hissing when it pulled her new stitches. "See if we can arrange transport off-world." She made it sound simple. Qui-Gon already knew from trying to secure transport for himself and Padmé it was anything but.

"Better to be gone before you're noticed," Qui-Gon said as certainty of purpose settled over him. This was the path the Force had opened up before him. "I can help you. I secured passage for myself and Padmé yesterday. With the winnings I should have enough for extra passengers. Get all of you away, and anyone else you can free. Today."

Aishass breathed in sharply, disbelief on her face. "What about your girl?" she asked.

"I'll come with you as far as Mos Eisley and find her. We'll get transport there." Qui-Gon met her serious eyes and answered the question she wasn't asking. "I'll try to find Obi-Wan if I can."

"I want to go with you," Ani's voice, groggy with sleep, chimed in. The boy sat backwards in a chair in a position that wouldn't aggravate his back or the new bandage at his side.

"No," Qui-Gon and Aishass said at the exact same moment. The two exchanged a knowing look, connected in their desire to protect Ani from further harm.

"No, young one." Aishass turned where she sat to better face him. "It's too dangerous for us." She gestured at their matching bandages that sheltered flesh that had held their trackers. "We must make the most of this chance to leave."

"I'm not leaving Oba!" Ani said fiercely. 

Qui-Gon opened his mouth to reassure him, but Aishass beat him to it, spitting out Huttese too rapid for him to follow, the tone brooking no argument. Whatever she said made Ani drop his gaze, though his chin didn't lose its stubborn tilt.

"I'll go make the arrangements," Qui-Gon said, happy to let her handle the boy. He told her the details of the hangar and ship, and what he knew of its captain. "When you come, travel in small groups."

"We know how to avoid notice, Jedi," Aishass replied with the lift of one eyebrow.

"Of course," Qui-Gon gave her nod, smiling a little at the admonishment. He wasted no more time and headed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Telling stories or singing to distract someone who's getting their slave chip out is from Filleril's world-building.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your kind comments! I know I'm behind on answering them, but I appreciate all of them <3

The first sun had just barely touched the city when Padmé set out with Obi-Wan and Shmi for the junkshop where Shmi worked. By daylight the labyrinthine streets were far less forbidding but remained just as confusing. 

They were among a slow stream of slaves leaving the quarter, splitting off in different directions as the city's merchants and laborers woke. Stalls went up on street corners, gates opened, and beings of all sorts checked their vaporators on the roofs for the night's collection.

Shmi led the way with Obi-Wan walking at her side. Padmé trailed a few steps behind, mindful of Shmi's instructions to keep her head down and her head covered by the scarf she'd lent her. "No one notices a slave until you ask them to," she'd said. 

Last night's chase had certainly seemed the opposite, but with the words ringing in her ears, Padmé suddenly noticed it everywhere. Here a man held a cistern for his master while the latter talked with an early customer. There a woman trailed behind her master, stepping out of the way of others in the street. People Padmé would have considered working class on Naboo wore the coarse-weave garb of Tatooine slaves. And they were everywhere.

At the next street corner, Shmi stopped, and once Padmé caught up to the two of them, she nodded at the market square ahead of them. "Ketto's yard is just on the other side. The back of Hangar 67 is there." She pointed to the long expanse of wall lined with stalls on the left side of the square.

"That's a busy market," Obi-Wan said mildly, but the look he shared with Shmi said it was anything but an idle observation.

"Can we go around?" Padmé asked.

Shmi shook her head. "The port authority station for this quarter is on the far side of the hangar and the cantinas are on that side." She pointed toward the opposite wall of the square, presumably to the neighborhood hidden in the streets beyond. "It would only take one observant mercenary to raise the alarm if Watto's reported you."

"He might not have. He hasn't killed me yet," Obi-Wan said dryly.

"That's not funny," Shmi gave him a sharp look that had Obi-Wan sobering immediately.

"I incapacitated him with prejudice," Padmé said, smiling grimly, the memory as satisfying as taking him out had been. "I'd be surprised if he was up and with his wits about him."

"Someone would have found him by now. And the zabrak could have reported us." Obi-Wan let out a heavy breath. "Well, standing here won't get us to a working communicator," he said.

Shmi nodded sharply, and Padmé was reminded of how Ani had told her he was coming to help her on that first fateful trip into the desert. "Cover your face now," she told Padmé, and when she had trouble, helped her arrange the scarf so only her eyes showed. 

They entered the square. On the surface it was as big as the main market square in Theed, an open space the size of several blocks, with a similar character of covered stalls, merchants shouting their prices, and shoppers browsing. For so early in the day it was already busy, but after six days on the planet, Padmé knew it was to avoid the midday heat. 

What wasn't the same as Theed were the wares. This was no food market, and the luxury items were specialty weapons, ship parts, and polished droids rather than fine clothes or artisan crafts. Imported goods fresh out of their sellers' cargo holds were hawked at discount prices, and buyers pulled anti-grav carts or loaded up their slaves with their purchases.

The three of them stepped carefully, keeping to the edge of the main thoroughfare. Obi-Wan ranged to the side and slightly behind, keeping a distance from Padmé and Shmi, who lead the way. 

"Head down," Shmi murmured in her ear after the second time Padmé glanced over her shoulder to find him through the bustle of beings between them. So far no one had given them a second look. It seemed like neither Watto nor the zabrak had reported them after all.

They were halfway across the square when a commotion at the main street entrance drew attention. A mixed crowd of mercenaries in mismatched armor shoved their way into the square, causing a ripple of alarm and more than one merchant to shout and bluster when one pair upset a stall display. It wasn't clear if they were drunk, or hungover, or both, or just looking for trouble, but nonetheless it was unsettling.

Shmi tugged Padmé along by the elbow, altering their course to stay well away from them, and Padmé remembered to duck her head. So far no one was paying them any attention. She wanted to find Obi-Wan, make sure he was all right, but her training served her well and she was able to shrug off the urge to turn her head. 

Focused on watching Shmi's boot heels and not losing her in the crowd, she nearly jumped out of her skin when someone touched her shoulder. 

Padmé jerked away, but it was Obi-Wan. He'd caught up to her and Shmi. Keeping his head down, he murmured so quietly that Padmé almost didn't hear, "The zabrak's here."

Alarm buzzed through Padmé. "What? Where?" She keenly felt the blaster tucked under her tunic against her side.

"Where we're headed. Look carefully," he said with a bare nod.

Her heart speeding up, Padmé looked up from under her brow, without moving her head. At first she didn't see him—she wouldn't have at all had she not known where to look. He paced slowly at the far side of the market, cloaked in black with his hood pulled up, scanning the crowd. Padmé didn't know if a Force-user could sense people they were looking for, but after following Obi-Wan through this unknown city the night before she wouldn't put it past them.

"We'll need to split up," Padmé said, though it was the last thing she wanted. 

Neither Obi-Wan nor Shmi protested, although they shared another look between them that held the weight of conversation. Seeing it made Padmé miss her handmaidens all the more, and she had to push down her fear for them. It was the sort of look she had exchanged a hundred times with Sabé, Rabé, and Eirtaé, her closest confidants.

"I'll distract him," Obi-Wan said, and without another word he stepped away and into the thicker crowd in the throughway.

Shmi watched him go, and Padmé lightly touched her elbow to bring her attention back. The older woman pressed her lips together and quickly brought herself back to the moment.

Padmé had no idea what Obi-Wan meant to do to distract the zabrak, but when it happened there was no mistaking it. A commotion near the mercenaries quickly turned into shouts and blaster fire, and then a combination of screams and yelling. Shmi kept walking, even as the beings in the market turned to see what all the fuss was about. 

Padmé used the cover to see if the zabrak had taken the bait. For a panicked moment, Padmé feared he hadn't seen and already left. He wasn't where she thought, but then she saw black movement out of the corner of her eye. 

He'd seen all right, and was stalking quickly toward the other end of the market where Obi-Wan had leapt to the top of a stall and was dodging the mercenaries giving chase. The zabrak had almost reach them when Obi-Wan jumped into a flip over a dozen heads and bolted for the nearest street into the neighborhood beyond. The mercenaries stampeded after them, the zabrak quick on their heels.

Padmé prayed that the Force was with Obi-Wan. He better not get caught, or she would—well, he'd better not get caught. But she couldn't think about that now. She and Shmi had their own job to do.

Shmi wove through the beings in the market, who lost interest once the excitement had left the square. Padmé's heart was still pounding, and she had the skin-crawling feeling that any one of them would turn on them next. But she kept her head down, and soon she and Shmi were beyond the last row of stalls and ducking down an alley. Shmi keyed in the code for the door halfway down, and then the noise and heat of the market was behind them.

The shop Shmi worked in was better described as a warehouse. The short corridor from the door at street level descended a dozen steps down and opened up into a large room delineated by shelving and stacked with crates of goods. The light was poor, so Padmé couldn't tell what was what, but it put Watto's outdoor junkyard to shame. 

She had to hurry to catch up to Shmi, who led her to a workroom off to the left, snapping lights and a fan on as she did. Padmé nearly jumped out of her skin when a droid that had been charging in the corner stuttered to life. It was of a large boxy design, built for lifting things, and it immediately went to Shmi who stroked a hand across its top as if she were stroking a pet.

Immediately, Padmé's thoughts went to Ani and how he talked to C3PO and R2-D2. Shmi's head bent to murmur to the droid and the brief smile she gave it was the same as her son's.

The droid trailed behind them to the workbench where Shmi rustled through a few crates of parts before digging out the guts of a communicator. Without a casing Padmé didn't recognize it, but after a moment of looking past the wires she saw the general shape of it. 

"I don't keep it working," Shmi said, reaching into her toolbox. The bench had no seating so they stood opposite each other while she screwed parts together.

"You've used it before?" Padmé asked, her mind racing through the implications. "To help others?"

"Mm," Shmi made an agreeable sound, glancing up though her eyelashes at Padmé. 

Padmé held still and kept her expression calm and trustworthy. She knew she was a strange offworlder, but she wanted Shmi to like her, if for no other reason than because Padmé was Ani's friend. 

"Sometimes there are people who pass through the port willing to take on extra cargo," Shmi said at last. "Not many, and not often. But sometimes."

Nodding, Padmé didn't look away, saying very seriously, "I'd never seen a planet like Tatooine before. But I should think that when I return home to Naboo I'd very much like to begin trading here for extra cargo. I know the Queen would agree."

Shmi didn't believe her, though her eyes were kind. "You have such influence?"

"I'm one of her handmaidens," Padmé said. "She'll listen to me."

"Will you take Obi-Wan with you?"

"If it's within my power, yes, of course."

Shmi let out a breath. She held Padmé's gaze, still skeptical but willing to accept her words for now. She turned her attention back to the communicator. 

"I wish he had not run off," she said after a minute.

Padmé knew what she meant. After last night's terrifying flight, she could imagine how much worse it would be in daylight with no shadows to hide in. Her own worry for him was an itch under her skin that she put aside the way she'd been trained. Although she was finding that Tatooine's dangers far exceeded any she'd encountered before, even when the palace in Theed was under attack. 

Then, she'd trusted in her guards to keep her safe, and though she was desperately worried about her people being held in camps by the Trade Federation, she was finding that having conversed and broken bread and fled death together made knowing Obi-Wan was in danger a hundred times worse. 

If he was caught, she didn't have to imagine what might happen to him. Witnessing Ani's whipping had driven home the capacity for needless cruelty in the hearts of slavers. She couldn't imagine letting him or Obi-Wan or any of the other slaves she'd met stay here a moment longer if it was in her power to help.

Still, Padmé couldn't help but want to soothe the worry on Shmi's face. "He's clever and quick," she said, "and—" She stopped herself before she added that he had the Force on his side. It wasn't her secret to tell.

But Shmi's look was knowing when she said, "And lucky," with particular emphasis.

Padmé nodded.

"Luck can run out," Shmi added. "It has before."

Padmé had no answer for that. "How long have you known him?" she asked instead.

"Since he was barely more than a boy when he came to Gardulla's Palace. He was bought for the fighting pits, but he was so young he started by minding the beasts. He was very quiet, very hurt when he first arrived. I didn't mean to make friends with him. Fighters without spirit usually don't last long. But it turned out his spirit was simply well hidden. And he had his luck with him."

"Did you and he . . .?" Padmé let her question rise from the silence. Shmi laughed a little and shook her head.

"No," she said. "He was only sixteen when I fell pregnant with Anakin. He was my friend, and when Ani showed signs of being lucky too, he helped me with him. We were sold together when Watto won a bet against Gardulla herself. Obi-Wan had been nearly killed in the pit a few weeks before and she threw him into the deal so she wouldn't have to give up a healthy fighter to honor the bet. But that was as far as our luck went. Watto sold me here instead to double his profit."

Her attention was on her hands as she spoke, and Padmé watched as she fixed the comms' connections, lost for words. Her thoughts went back to Ani, alone now and hurt, and then to her own mother and father. She couldn't imagine what losing her parents would feel like except that she knew it would be terrible.

"Here," Shmi said, flipping the casement closed. Padmé pulled her thoughts back to the present and accepted the communicator. Shmi helped her turn it on—a trick to it to make it seem like junk even if she were caught with it, she said. Padmé thanked her and then carefully input the Jedi's comm signal.

"I have to go open the shop," Shmi said, putting her tools away.

Padmé nodded. "I'll come find you after." Then the connection to Qui-Gon picked up, his hologram patchy but there. Padmé smiled at Shmi, who nodded back and Padmé felt the first flickers of hope return.

* * *

The streets of Mos Eisley were even more unforgiving in daylight than they were at night. 

As he led the zabrak away from Padmé and Shmi in the square, Obi-Wan quickly let go of the idea of leading him on a merry chase. He was the prey and other hunters in the city would soon catch on. He couldn't disappear either or risk the zabrak doubling back after Padmé. No, he needed to keep his attention and throw him off her trail.

His luck ran out in another back alley with a dead end. He tried jumping for the roof, but the zabrak on his heels did something that had him tumbling back to the ground. Obi-Wan scrambled to his feet, grabbing a length of pipe in a nearby refuse bin that would have to do for a weapon. His palms were sweaty as he gripped it loosely in his fingers, tip down. If the zabrak fought anything like the Jedi did, an out and out brawl wasn't his first choice for getting out of this alive.

The zabrak's shadow darkened the mouth of the alley. It felt like darkness swallowed all the light with it, despite the early-morning suns above them. Then he was there, the hood of his cloak thrown back revealing the black and red tattoos that cut across his face like a war cry. He held a lightsaber hilt in his right hand, out from his body, ready to ignite.

"What do you want with her?" Obi-Wan shouted.

The zabrak tilted his head, which in no way diminished the aura of menace that Obi-Wan sensed, but his lightsaber remained unlit.

"The girl. What do you want with her?" he said again.

"Why did you help her run?" the zabrak asked, his voice surprisingly deep.

"She promised to help me escape this planet," Obi-Wan said. It was even true, after a fashion. "I want to be free. I don't want to fight you."

The zabrak took a few steps closer, considering Obi-Wan, but he still hadn't ignited his lightsaber. Obi-Wan just had to keep him talking, keep him here to give Padmé and Shmi time. Time to reach the Jedi, time to find a hyperdrive, time for too many things that would take too long. He probably wouldn't make it back to them and his heart broke a little at the thought. 

But he didn't see what else to do. Without Padmé and her ship, they had no chance other than the desert, and Obi-Wan was honest enough with himself that he could admit the desert terrified him. He wasn't ready for freedom through that route. He was barely ready for freedom through this one. The way he'd frozen—

But the zabrak was stalking closer. "You have the Force," he said. "If you lead me to the girl, I will teach you to use it. I will teach you what power is and you can destroy your masters. You could destroy everyone on this planet if you want."

Obi-Wan's breath came faster as he imagined it. Striking down Watto with the speeder would be nothing in comparison. Every slave catcher, every depur, every Hutt. Gardulla, Jabba, he could dethrone them and their empire—free everyone. 

Yet, even now thinking about it also brought a cold sweat. His muscles locked up in expectation of the shock collar's retribution. He'd tried. 

As a boy when he'd first been captured, he'd tried so hard to take out Bandir the slave trader. The first time he'd tried with his rudimentary Jedi training, Bandir had killed a girl his age in front of him—sliced through her belly till she died a slow and painful death—and the second time when he'd reached for the Dark side, Bandir had killed his only friend and made Obi-Wan wield the knife.

The zabrak smiled, a slow predatory grin. 

Obi-Wan risked testing his luck against what he was thinking, but recoiled at the swirling, hungry Dark that met him, ready to devour everything it touched. It felt like nothing he'd sensed before in the spaces between people—or even the darkest region of his own thoughts. There was strength there unlike anything he'd imagined was possible. Power that felt like a groundswell ready to burst forth and shatter the earth and tear down cities and drag them into the abyss. 

It was everything Obi-Wan thought he wanted. He'd told the Jedi, he'd do anything for their freedom.

And yet. The power the zabrak offered was not the beat of the Mighty One's wings. It wasn't a sandstorm obscuring the relentless suns. It wasn't the endless rain to breathe life into the desert. Obi-Wan came of age among his enslaved people, who bided their time, and planted seeds that would one day bloom. 

With a burst of clarity he saw the path of scorched earth laid in front of him. It would blacken the desert till nothing would grow.

"Where is the girl?" The zabrak's yellow eyes bore into him like coals waiting to ignite.

Obi-Wan pressed his luck outward, slowly, gently. He didn't think he'd have a chance at trying the same tricks twice. He licked his lips. "You haven't killed my masters."

"Tell me where she is and I will." The zabrak clenched his fist. "Join me."

Less than twenty paces separated them now. "I am far too humble to be worthy of joining you," Obi-Wan said with a bow.

The grin slipped from the zabrak's face, and a moment later, he ignited his saber. He sprang—but so did Obi-Wan. Upward with all the strength and luck he knew, until he was on the roof, running and jumping as he never had before in his life. 

He stretched his senses out, acting without thought as he had the night before. Following his feet over ledges, across drops, rolling leaps that had him running once more. He felt the life pulsing in the city around him, the people who shouted at them as they checked their vaporators, the blaster shots from the streets below as bounty hunters and slave catchers saw a fleeing slave and drew their own conclusions.

He didn't think about how this chase ended. He ran where it felt right, and whether an hour had passed or a few minutes he couldn't have said. All he knew was that if he stopped he'd be caught—by the zabrak and his Darkness, by slave catchers, by Depur. All that he had left was to run. 

So he ran.

The zabrak kept pace with him. From one building to another. He was fast, and the Darkness of his presence nipped at Obi-Wan's heels, like the flickering end of a whip prodding him ever faster. 

He dodged around a corner—to be nearly cut off when the zabrak did a flipping jump over his head. Only Obi-Wan's arena-honed reflexes kept him from being impaled on the end of the red laser blade that swiped at his head. He sprinted for the edge of the roof he was on and leapt, turning his landing into a roll to his feet. He heard the footsteps behind him and sprinted for the next ledge only to find himself out of rooftop. 

Obi-Wan didn't stop, leaping instead to the ground and back amongst the streets and the open square ahead of him.

"There he is!" The cry went up. 

Searching frantically, Obi-Wan caught sight of the pack of mercenaries flooding the street to his right. He ran left only to pull up when another pair of bounty hunters leveled their weapons at him from that direction. Around him, beings melted from the streets to the doorways, sensing the confrontation in the air. 

Too late, he darted for the alley across the way. The zabrak landed in front of him, flipping over his head to land with his red saber glowing from both ends in a deadly staff.

His yellow eyes bore into Obi-Wan, who was suddenly seized by fear. His muscled locked up even as he felt the warning signs of the shakes shudder through him. He was trapped.

Blaster bolts broke the bubble of terror that held him. Obi-Wan spun out of the way of as much of the barrage as he could, but he couldn't dodge all of the bolts—a shot to his thigh brought him to his knees, another burned through the meat of his shoulder. He cried out, sure this was it. A shot to his chest and he was done, his body would be hanged outside the slave quarters.

But the final bolts never landed. The barrage stopped. He heard the mercenaries shouting in celebration through the rushing in his ears. He grit his teeth against the burning pain in his thigh and shoulder and looked up. He was surrounded by mercenaries, who had given pride of place to the zabrak, and beside him a hovering toydarian. Watto.

Obi-Wan could barely think through the pain, but that didn't matter now. He felt the shakes start in his fingers, the jostle to his wounded shoulder agonizing but something to focus on, something to keep him steady. 

No running would ever get him far enough away. Not now.

His eyes never left Watto as he and the zabrak flew and stalked closer. Predators inspecting their prey. Obi-Wan should bow his head, grovel, but he couldn't dislodge the fear that kept him frozen on his knees.

"You waste of water." Watto spat, a sticky gob smacking Obi-Wan in the face. He couldn't smell it over the scent of his own charred flesh but it turned his stomach anyway.

"You will tell me where the girl is. Or you will die." The hum of the zabrak's light staff was as loud as the rushing in his ears.

"Eh!" Watto snarled at him. "You've already gotten my property damaged."

"I'll pay for his corpse if that's what it takes," the zabrak snapped.

Obi-Wan didn't speak. His breath came in heaving gasps, out of sync with his heartbeat that he felt pulsing in his blaster burns. Death might be preferable to what Watto had waiting for him. He'd lost Shmi. He'd lost Ani. If Watto didn't have him tortured as an example, he'd be sold to hard labor.

His master had a mean look in his eye and gestured behind him. A pair of slave-catchers yanked Obi-Wan to his feet, sending waves of pain through him from his jostled wounds. Before he could learn his fate, he passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea for Padmé to help slaves escape Tatooine comes from Fialleril's world-building.


	17. Chapter 17

"I'm fine!" Ani insisted one more time as he twisted out of Aishass's grip. "Really! See!" 

He turned his head in a big exaggerated circle that still pulled at his shoulders painfully but he didn't let Aishass see that. Whatever Grandmother had put on his wounds early that morning back in Mos Espa had worked like magic to numb most of the pain and heal the worst of the torn skin on his back. Ani had never heard of such a thing before, but he wanted more of it for every hurt he'd ever seen inflicted on a Tatooine slave.

It was Mister Qui-Gon's doing. He'd helped them so much, more than Ani had expected, and more than anyone not a slave ever had. He'd found them a ship, too, and helped get a dozen of them to it. They'd been crammed into a hold and he'd never been so excited in his life as when he felt the ship thrum to life through the walls. 

Gravity tried to hold them back, pressing them to the floor, but it couldn't hold them. They were free and they were flying.

But that had been ages ago. Long enough for his worry and fear for what was happening to Obi-Wan to take over his thoughts. Mister Qui-Gon wasn't in the hold, and Ani wondered if he got to look out a window too, with no little amount of jealousy. The hold was boring. 

The one unblocked hazard light overhead shaded everyone in a low, greenish light that made Ani think of being in the belly of a beast. They were stuffed in with three rows of unmarked crates that were as tall as Ani and stacked to the ceiling, but only took up three-quarters of the floor space. The little kids kept trying to jump and climb up, keeping the adults occupied. They'd found some of their parents and other folks and gotten their chips out before they'd had to leave, but not all of them.

As an older kid he was expected to help, but he'd made his way toward the door instead. Ani was determined to see more of the ship. 

"Ani! No!" Aishass made a grab for him, but with only one leg she wasn't fast enough to catch him, and some of the little kids noticed and started running over, so she had to catch them before they got in trouble. 

Ani slipped by and hit the door control.

He'd never been on a ship before. He still wasn't sure he really believed that they were going to leave Tatooine—it seemed so impossible! Like a dream. 

He trotted down the steel grey corridor that was dimly lit, looking into doorways and opening the ones that were unlocked. Mister Qui-Gon had said he was going to stay with the captain, a wiry human fellow that had been really agreeable when they'd showed up with a change of plans. 

Ani was pretty sure that was Mister Qui-Gon's doing because the captain had acted really strangely, repeating everything he said. Aishass had given the Jedi a stern look too, which meant he'd done something. Ani knew that look because she gave it to Obi-Wan whenever he did something she thought was stupid.

She was definitely going to give Obi-Wan that look when they found him. 

Dernai had been at the fights and saw when Obi-Wan had taken Mister Qui-Gon's fight against the duneclaw. He'd told them all about it after they'd gotten his chip out and explained that Watto had taken him and Padmé to Mos Eisley, and the Jedi was going after them. 

"Watto might have skinned him already," he warned Ani, trying to temper his hopes. But Ani refused to believe him. 

If anything bad happened to Obi-Wan, Ani would know. He'd _know_. And he was going to find him and rescue him before anything bad could happen. He was free now. He could save him. But he couldn't do it from the hold.

Ani found Mister Qui-Gon in the cockpit, which was clearly the best part of the ship. The sight through the front windows showed the desert speeding along below them. They were really flying! Ani tried to see everything at once. 

Unlike the cramped corridors with pipes and cables, the cockpit was filled with switches and readout dials. He could identify a few on sight—the hyperdrive, the gimbal controls, the engine heat meter—but there were so many more than he usually saw on podracers or speeders, which were Watto's mainstays. The few bigger ships he'd seen were usually in parts by the time Ani saw them. He wanted to learn everything.

But his attention quickly fell on the communications hologram flickering in the center of the console.

"Padmé!" he said rushing forward till he was between the pilot and co-pilot chairs, leaning against Mister Qui-Gon's arm where the Jedi steadied him. Padmé's image blinked in and out, static buzzing with the audio signal. She smiled when she saw Ani.

" _bzzst . . . bzztrrr_ . . . here," she said but the audio was really bad.

"You're breaking up again," Mister Qui-Gon said. "I'll be there soon."

"Is Obi-Wan there?" Ani asked, craning his head, but there was no one to see beyond Padmé's flickering image.

"He's not . . . _bzzzrt . . . brrrssts_." Padmé shook her head but the image flickered again and then went dead for good. 

Ani stared at where her holo had been, a heavy feeling curdling in his chest. "What did she say? What was wrong with the signal?"

Mister Qui-Gon sat back in the co-pilot's seat with a frown on his face. "Sand and mountains, apparently," Mister Qui-Gon said, glancing at the captain in the pilot's seat.

"You said you wanted a direct transmission and to fly below the sensors," the captain said mildly. "Smart, too, with Mos Eisley restricting landings today."

"What?" Ani looked between the two men.

"Either the Hutts are traveling or there's been a big enough dust up to get their attention," the captain said. "Happens a couple times a year, though usually in racing season."

"But you know where she is, right? You talked to her before it went bad?"

Mister Qui-Gon smiled. "Yes. She managed to get across her location and that of her ship. She's also found a dealer with a hyperdrive."

"And Obi-Wan? She said he wasn't with her." Ani bounced on his toes, the feeling in his chest tightening.

"It could have meant anything. We don't know what she was going to say afterward. We have to assume they're together. No doubt if they are on the run from Watto, he's keeping watch. Now," Mister Qui-Gon put one large hand on Ani's forearm, "what are you doing up here? You should be resting."

"I have to go with you," Ani said, turning back to stare at the empty holo. The captain snorted behind him.

Mister Qui-Gon said gravely, "I'm afraid it's too dangerous for you. You're going to stay here with Aishass and the others and we'll rendezvous with you in the next system."

"You'll need my help! We didn't hear what happened to Obi-Wan! What if—"

"Ani," Mister Qui-Gon interrupted him, and Ani knew that look on his face meant business. "I know where they are, and we've located a hyperdrive. Once I get to them, we'll still have to dodge the authorities and retake the Queen's ship. I need you to keep an eye on things up here."

Ani knew when adults were trying to shove him out of the way. You couldn't talk them around when they got like this.

"Fine," he said, making sure Mister Qui-Gon knew he didn't agree and thought his idea was dumb. Aishass needing his help taking care of everyone—that was the stupidest thing he'd ever heard. 

His chest hurt, and he wasn't going to waste water crying, but Mister Qui-Gon was wrong. So very wrong and dumb. Obi-Wan needed him. He'd get lost in his own head if he didn't have Ani. He told him so all the time, and Ani knew it was true because he was the only one who could make Obi-Wan laugh sometimes. And if Watto had him—

"Good lad," said Mister Qui-Gon, shooing him out of the cockpit. 

Ani swallowed hard and tried not to think about what would happen if Watto found him. He didn't go far, just far enough to be out of sight and hear the murmur of their voices as Mister Qui-Gon talked to the captain. He found a few smaller supply crates to hide behind when the Jedi strode down the corridor, and he was pretty sure that when Mister Qui-Gon looked in his direction he didn't see him. 

He kept back until Mister Qui-Gon was out of sight and then followed him, catching glimpses of Mister Qui-Gon's back as he peeked around corners all the way to the landing entryway. Ani was sure he could sneak in, but his luck ran out when Artoo greeted him loudly from behind, attracting the Jedi's attention. 

"Go away!" Ani pushed at the droid, not caring that Aishass wanted him back in the hold.

At the other end of the corridor, Mister Qui-Gon sighed, then squatted and beckoned Ani to come stand before him. His head was lower than Ani's now, and he had to look up at him. "I'll bring them back," he said.

"You only care about Padmé."

"I care about Obi-Wan too." Mister Qui-Gon's eyes were serious and sad. "They are in a very difficult situation, and I can't be worrying about you while I help them." He held up a hand when Ani began to protest. "A landing prohibition is in effect because of runaway slaves. I think we can both guess who they're searching for. They'll be after you too if they see you."

"But I'm free!" Ani said, feeling the ache in his side where his chip had been cut out. "They won't be able to track me. They'll see you! You're too tall, but they won't notice me!"

Mister Qui-Gon shook his head. "I am also going to be jumping out of this ship to get into the city," he said as if that were a reasonable reason for Ani not to go.

But Ani didn't care. "You said I could be a Jedi if I was free. Well, I'm free and if you can jump then I can jump and you can't stop me!" 

"Ani!" Mister Qui-Gon's voice turned sharp. Ani tried to dodge, but the Jedi grabbed for him and caught his wrist. Ani flinched. Mister Qui-Gon's grip was gentle enough, though Ani couldn't pull free when he tried.

"Let me go!" 

"I can't let you follow me," Mister Qui-Gon was implacable. He stood and tugged Ani, twisting and squirming, trying to break his grip, out of the landing entryway. Artoo beeped indignantly behind them. At least Ani had one friend, he thought viciously, as Mister Qui-Gon dragged him back to the hold.

Aishass and everyone were asking a dozen questions when Mister Qui-Gon handed him over, but as soon as the door closed, one swift kick to Dernai's shin surprised him into letting Ani go.

"Ani! Stop!" Aishass tried to grab him again.

He tried to open the door, but it was locked. Pounding his fists against it, the pressure in Ani's chest was making it hard to breathe. He had to get out! He had to go with him!

"Ani, calm down!"

"I won't! I need to go! I have to find him! I have to find him!" he screamed, banging his head on the door. It hurt. But it felt good to hurt because everything hurt, his throat, his eyes, his hands, his shoulders, his back, his chest, his side. Ani was cracked open. 

He was supposed to be free. He'd freed himself and now the Jedi had made him a slave again, putting him where he wanted him. It was awful, everything was awful and he was going to be all alone.

Behind him, Aishass put a careful hand on the top of his shoulder. It hurt, but he didn't want to dislodge it except he did.

"I have to find him!" he sobbed against the door.

"We have to trust the Jedi now," Aishass said.

"How?"

Aishass sighed. "We just do."

"Well, I don't!" Ani pounded against the door controls again. He could take it apart.

But before he had to go that far the door opened. On the other side, Artoo beeped and whirred at him, telling him to hurry.

Ani wasted only a moment staring wide-eyed at the droid before he leapt into the hallway. Aishass called after him, and he heard footsteps running behind him, but he didn't care.

In the entryway, the landing ramp was still lowered. Dry, dusty air swirled in. They were flying low but fast, and Mos Eisley was visible not far away but at a dizzyingly distant drop below them. As he ran across the deck with Artoo on his heels, he could already feel the ship shifting. 

"Ani!" Dernai yelled from behind him.

The landing ramp was beginning to close, and Ani didn't think. He just ran. If the Jedi could do it, so could he. He was terrified. He was determined. He didn't stop when he reached the edge. He jumped.

Artoo screamed after him, and Ani fell into the terrifying grip of free fall. He tumbled through the air, seeing the ground rushing toward him and helpless to stop it. He was going to splat. He couldn't stop, and as that thought transformed into an animal shriek of fear—he was going to die, he was going to die, he was going to die—

Ani had a fleeting thought that it wasn't fair he didn't have wings.

* * *

Qui-Gon made quick progress through the twisting, maze-like streets of Mos Eisley. 

For all his confidence in the face of Ani's questions, he didn't like the fact that he'd learned so little from Padmé through the bad connection, and he liked it even less every time he had to stop and ask for directions to Hanger 67. 

The people of Tatooine were unfriendly as a rule—unless you were buying something. Every single being he'd asked so far had already tried to sell him on a different junk shop. Each delay slowed Qui-Gon down and he had to breathe through his irritation. 

Open to the Force, he could sense a shadow at the edges of his awareness. That was far from reassuring.

The shop when he found it was bigger than Watto's. The steps down inside offered blessed relief from the morning heat, and as his eyes adjusted, he saw rows of neatly stacked bins and open crates that held sorted mechanical parts. Sensing nothing amiss—and hoping it meant Obi-Wan had shielded himself—he wandered through the aisles.

"A customer!" a booming voice accosted him. "Welcome, welcome! How might I be of service to you? Perhaps you need a droid? Or a navigation system? I have the finest charts, the finest charts to get you anywhere you want to go, from the Rim to the Core." 

Qui-Gon turned in time to dodge an enthusiastic backslap from a tall, reptilian pandarian. His facial features were long and narrow, but his beady eyes held the same greedy gleam in them as every other being on the planet. A last glance around the shop revealed no one else in view, and Qui-Gon once again stifled his impatience. Obi-Wan and Padmé had a slavers' bounty on them, and he didn't want to betray their cover or that of the slaves helping them until he had found them. 

He smiled at the proprietor and drew himself to his full height. The Nubian cruiser still needed a hyperdrive. 

However, the feeling that something was wrong wouldn't be completely set aside. Despite his focus on the negotiation, Qui-Gon worried at the lack of any sign of Padmé or Obi-Wan as he was led through the shop floor and offered deals and upgrades to his ship's power systems. He might have the wrong shop, or perhaps they were anxiously waiting in a cabinet hidden in the back. 

It wasn't until the proprietor finally acknowledged that no, Qui-Gon just needed a hyperdrive and shouted for "Shmi!" and a human woman dressed in a faded blue tunic in the style favored by slaves, that Qui-Gon's worries solidified into a shape he recognized.

Shmi kept her head down and her voice soft as she answered the summons. In the way of the sun-weathered, her age was hard to judge beyond no longer young, but her black hair held no gray, tied back in a bun with a few strands falling free to hide her face. 

It wasn't enough to hide the way her eyes caught his as she looked up through her hair, however, a piercing stare that let him know she knew exactly who he was. And it didn't hide the fresh cut, red and beginning to scab that cut across her cheek.

"Perhaps she could show me the hyperdrive so I can ensure everything is in good order?" Qui-Gon interrupted the proprietor's next pitch for upgrading the hydraulic system, adding a strong suggestion that had the proprietor stumbling over himself to suggest that Shmi show him the hyperdrive.

Shmi bobbed a bow to her master and gestured for Qui-Gon to follow her toward the back. Once they descended a second set of stairs into the warehouse below, Qui-Gon said quietly, "I'm Qui-Gon Jinn. I'm looking for a girl and a young man—"

Shmi gave him a terse nod, glancing upward briefly. "The hyperdrive is this way," she said loudly enough to be heard above, and then added more quietly as she led him through the rows of larger ship parts. "Obi-Wan split from us to distract the mercenaries in the market. He hasn't come back. Padmé was here with me this morning, but slavers rattled the shop. She was downstairs and heard the noise. She didn't know to hide."

"They took her?" Qui-Gon asked. Shmi nodded. He closed his eyes briefly, giving himself a moment to feel the overwhelming frustration and worry at the news. Then he took a breath, and set his feelings aside. "Tell me everything."

"It happened quickly. Six slavers. They rattled the whole street. I was up there opening the shop, and I was too far from the stairs to warn her." Shmi shook her head, leaning against the workbench, shoulders tense. "She heard when they hit me and tried to help. She had a blaster and shot two of them before they grabbed me. They knew who she was, and claimed they had bonds for the price of any slave that got in their way. She traded herself for me."

"Do you know where they might have taken her?"

"There are three bounty offices in the city, but if they were from the zabrak Padmé told me about, they could be meeting anywhere."

Going to all three bounty offices would take time Qui-Gon didn't have. "The ship," he said, trying to think it through.

It made the most sense. The zabrak had stolen the Nubian from Mos Espa. He had to have arrived on another ship stashed somewhere; the Nubian was free transport back to it and had hostages aboard to control Padmé. 

"It might be a gamble," he said, "but if I'm wrong then there might be someone at the hanger who knows more. I can use the hyperdrive delivery to get close." A plan of sorts was coming together, but he hesitated before taking his leave of Shmi. 

Tatooine's slave community was close-knit, and that she'd risked her life to help two in need was a debt he wasn't sure he could adequately repay. He couldn't offer her freedom unless she ran with them; with a ship's medical tools at their disposal they'd left the scanner for the Mos Espa slaves. 

"Thank you for helping them. If I can repay you in any way, there will be funds left over from the hyperdrive purchase."

Shmi's dark eyes fixed on him. "I'll take what you can give, but what I want is news of Anakin."

For a moment, Qui-Gon wondered how she knew him. But then the pieces fell together. "You're his mother."

Shmi's gaze didn't waver. She nodded once. "Obi-Wan told me what happened."

"Then you'll be relieved to hear that he's doing much better than even a day ago. I got him bacta for his wounds, and," Qui-Gon smiled, genuine joy at being able to share this news, "he freed himself of his chip. Him and others, a good dozen, are on the ship that brought me here."

"What?" Shmi's eyes widened, her tone faint.

He nodded, his smile tempering but his heart no less glad. Shmi was leaning heavily against the workbench, holding herself up as she processed the news. Qui-Gon lay one of his hands atop hers and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"He's safe. You have a very special son."

Shmi's smile was quick and gone, and then it returned with a bubble of disbelieving laughter. She closed her eyes and hid her face in her hands. Qui-Gon stepped back a little to give her a moment, but Shmi didn't need long. After a short minute, she wiped her eyes and nodded, taking a few deep breaths to steady her nerves. Calm and a new steely determination settled over her features, and she fixed her gaze on Qui-Gon once more.

"You'll get Ani off this horrible planet," she said, waiting for Qui-Gon to nod. "Padmé said you would take Obi-Wan with you when you left."

"Yes, if we find him." Qui-Gon hesitated, his last conversation with Obi-Wan before the fights forcing him to be honest. "I will do my best to find him, but Padmé is my priority. If she's in danger, I must get her offworld as soon as possible."

Shmi's expression didn't waver. "How are you leaving? Padmé's ship that was stolen? The one that needs the hyperdrive?"

"Another gamble, but one I have faith we can pull off."

"It may be guarded."

"Then perhaps I'll recruit them to our cause," Qui-Gon said with a half-smile. 

Shmi raised an eyebrow at him, studying his face. After a moment she tilted her head a little and let out a short, quick breath. "Then ask Ketto upstairs for installation service for the hyperdrive when you settle with him. If you steal it back, I'll fix it while you find them."

"On the ship, there's a medical bay—"

"I won't need it," Shmi said with a terse smile. "I taught my son many things before I was taken from him."

Qui-Gon couldn't help glancing at the parts cabinets behind her, and the warehouse of stripped ship and mechanical systems beyond the workroom. When he looked back at Shmi, her face was inscrutable, giving nothing away. In a moment, she could duck her head and be as subservient as she'd been upstairs, a part of the furniture. 

But furniture didn't have children and friends they weren't willing to abandon. Qui-Gon saw enough, but unlike her son he only saw what she allowed him to see.

"Then I have a deal to finish," he said, bowing toward her.


	18. Chapter 18

The last thing Ani expected as he tumbled through the air, terrified of the moment he was going to crash into the ground, was being caught in the belly by something hard enough to knock the breath out of him. His fingers grasped reflexively at the metal struts beneath him as a roaring of more than the wind filled his ears. 

It took him blinking through his slitted eyes, closed against the wind, to realize that he was really on something, still falling, but not really because he was being pushed up! Then he recognized the blue and white dome top and the beeping in his ears.

"Artoo!" 

The droid had saved him! Fear fled in the face of the laughter that flooded him. Ani hugged Artoo for all he was worth. 

Ani was flying. The rest of the trip to the ground was as exhilarating as podracing, though twice as terrifying because that was the ground rushing up to meet them. But Artoo's thrusters held steady, keeping them from tumbling to the ground and going splat. 

Before he knew it, they were on the ground toward the edge of the city. People were staring at them, but out here it was just the bantha herders, and as soon as Ani unlocked from his full body hug of the droid he scrambled to his feet and took off running. He felt fizzy and wobbly, but he didn't let that stop him. 

He hadn't died. Artoo was with him. He had to find Obi-Wan and help him. 

But first, he had to hide before slavers got the idea to check on him. Fortunately the city streets weren't far and he outran the shouts and calls of the herders, Artoo beeping for him to slow down and wait for him.

Mos Eisley was huge, but not that different from Mos Espa. Ani didn't know these streets like he did Mos Espa, he didn't know every face on every corner. But he recognized the dust and sand, the mercenaries, slave catchers, and depurs. He recognized his people. Cloth-covered faces behind every merchant, minding stalls, hauling water.

He had to find Obi-Wan and Padmé too, and Mister Qui-Gon if he was going to find them. He thought they were together. But they could have been separated. Padmé had tried to tell them but they hadn't been able to hear through the static. He was sure it was bad. No one went to Mos Eisley without bad things happening. Watto wouldn't come here otherwise.

Ani looked around the street, looking for someone who could help. Most of his people were busy or not alone, but there, a slave minding a stall on his own.

"Please," Ani approached and said in the language of the slaves. "I'm looking for the market." He leaned heavily against the tabletop of the stall, out of breath from running, his whole being straining with the need to find Obi-Wan. 

The uncle in the stall blinked at him for a moment, then flicked a hasty look around them. Ani had spoken softly and the business on the street was loud and brisk, hawkers and dealers flagging everyone down as loud as they could. The uncle looked him over next, and Ani didn't hide any of his desperation from his face. 

When uncle took his hand and squeezed, he squeezed back just as hard. The grip steadied him. Ani wasn't alone in a strange city. He could do this. He could find Obi-Wan.

"You'll need to hurry if you want to beat the crowds," uncle said, leaning toward him and tracing directions on the tabletop. "You'll be all right on your own?" His fingers curved and flicked in a pattern asking after his master.

That Ani could answer, a bright grin splitting his face and banishing his worry for a moment, even as his heart beat faster. Free. He was free now. He nodded firmly, holding his head up with pride. "I have to go," he said aloud, tracing a dashed unfettered circle on the on the tabletop, startling uncle with it. He glanced around the busy street again, before giving Ani a smile that was there and gone before anyone could notice.

"Go then." 

His heart lighter and his breath returned, Ani took off. He was pretty sure he had the directions to the slave market in his head, but he was lucky too, and when he got to the first curving intersection, he let his feet lead him. 

As he did though, he felt like maybe relying on his luck wasn't going to work as well as it usually did. Something felt wrong in the air. Threatening, and the feeling only got worse the closer he got to the slave market.

Ani kept out of the way as he threaded through the people coming and going into the vast square. He couldn't see much at first, just more people, though more depurs than he was used to. Then he reached the first stalls where slave traders were hawking the shackled beings staked in lines behind them.

"Fresh from Sriluur! Fresh from Sriluur! Hard workers! Heat resistant!" 

"If you buy two, I'll chip them for free!" 

The callers and vendors filled the air with noise.

Mos Eisley was Tatooine's major port city, with a lot of ships arriving from offworld every day. Everywhere Ani looked he saw desperate faces turned away from Tatooine's twin suns. Humans and twi'lek were in abundance but so were a dozen other kind of beings he recognized and another dozen he didn't. 

It hurt his heart to look at them. But he couldn't turn away. This was probably where his mom had been sold when Watto wanted to capitalize on his winnings. This was where Obi-Wan would be taken if he was caught. If he wasn't here, then Ani could find him in the city. But if he was here, he had to find him first.

Ani skimmed the faces and darted through the crowd. He kept his movements deliberate and quick, just a slave running an errand for his master. He'd never been to Mos Espa's market, but he knew how it worked. Only traders had stalls. For a master looking to sell a single slave, the brokers' auctions at the heart of the market were the place to do it.

The spiraling outer rings of stalls gave way at last to the large square. At its center was the auction block, a raised platform of duracrete, with durasteel rings set every half meter around its edge. It was blocky and plain, and currently empty except for a human with a pad and stylus under his arm talking with another human standing on the ground. 

The crowd wasn't too big yet; Ani had plenty of room to walk through and see around him. He didn't know how crowded it would get once the auction got underway. Maybe if a Hutt was coming to bid it'd be busier, or if it were taking place before the big races or pit fights. Trade always got busy during the big competitions.

It didn't take him long to reach the expansive covered pens at the north end of the square. Ani trotted beside the fencing, his hands bumping over the hot metal bars. He kept his head down and hoped that none of the beings looking over their options noticed him. 

Most of the slaves awaiting the auction were clustered at the back, as far from prospective buyers as they could get. They hadn't noticed Ani yet, or if they had, they were ignoring him. He went up the western side of the fence, where there were fewer people and got as close to a knot of slaves as he could. Squatting down, he didn't dare call too loudly.

"Hey!" he said in Huttese. "Hey, over here!" He took an anxious look around him, but so far no one on his side of the fence was looking. One of the slaves had noticed him, though, and Ani bounced a little and reached through the bars to beckon them over. The others in the group were watching him now too, and a human woman who looked older than his mom shuffled close enough for him to ask quietly, "I'm looking for Obi-Wan Luckmaker. Is he here?"

Ani fidgeted while the whispers went through the groups clustered in the pen. He didn't know if he wanted him to be there or not. If he was, then they'd found each other. If not, he might still be free and Ani would have to search the whole city, which was huge. But that lucky sense of him that he sometimes got said that Obi-Wan was here. He had to be here.

Out on the square, a crier shouted that the auction was about to begin. Buyers, traders, the crowd of several hundred people milled around the central platform, taking interest as the first batch of slaves was shuffled over from the pens.

Hurry, hurry, hurry, Ani thought trying to see where the whisper was in the pen. Guards would be coming back soon. But the whisper from the pens was coming back to him, and the human woman at last turned from her group to Ani. She shook her head, her eyes big and sad. 

Ani felt all the breath leave his body, his skin prickling. They had to be wrong. Obi-Wan was here. They had to be wrong. He clutched the bars and tried to see, but everyone was huddled together and he could barely see any faces among them.

He didn't hear the footsteps until it was too late.

"What have we here?" 

Ani jumped, badly startled, and whirled around to face three slave-catchers in rough armor who'd come up behind him, their catching sticks loose in their hands. They were advancing slowly, like wolves circling. But Ani was free and he intended to remain so. He barely thought about it before he was reacting, running and dodging between two of them, his small size an advantage.

He was dizzy with running, out of breath from fear—he couldn't be caught, he could be whipped again, he was free free free and he wasn't going to make it easy. 

But he was also a boy caught in a crowd. The slave-catchers shouted after him, and others nearby turned to look. A few people made grabs for him that he managed to dodge, but not without his heart in his throat.

He zig-zagged around a knot of buyers and without warning burst into an open space in front of the platform. And there, up on the platform, hands and feet chained with the rest, was Obi-Wan.

"Oba!" Ani felt his whole world righting itself. He'd found him! He reached for warmth and safety and all the things Obi-Wan made right even when everything was so wrong.

"Ani! Behind you!" Obi-Wan yelled.

But this time, Ani wasn't fast enough. The slave-catcher knocked him to the ground with his stick, sending him tumbling across the ground near the platform. The hard packed sand did nothing to cushion his fall, and his hands scraped against the loose duracrete pebbles and chunks that heat and time had crumbled from the platform. 

His whole body with all its hurts lit up like it was on fire, and Ani couldn't help but scream. There was a lot of shouting above him now, the crack of a whip and the sizzle of a shock baton. Ani tried to brush the sand from his face but it grit into his skin where his hands were bleeding, making it worse. 

Then one voice broke through the rest and his head snapped up at the hum of a familiar buzz of wings.

A small circle had formed around him and the platform, and with the slave-catchers surrounding him was Watto.

"You! You bantha shit spawn!" Watto yelled at him with an accusing finger. "How did you get here? You want to be sold too? I should for all the trouble you've caused me! Send you to the mines, that's what you deserve!" 

"No!" Hot anger burst free from the fear in his chest. Fists clenched around the sand and duracrete at his knees, Ani pushed himself to his feet. "No! You won't sell me!"

"Why you—" Watto started forward, and Ani glared at him with a sandstorm in his heart. 

"No! I'm free! I'm free! I'm Anakin Skywalker! And you can't have me back!" 

While Watto froze in mid-air for a second, while the slave-catchers and the buyers and the depurs all around gasped, Ani drew back his arm and threw the duracrete rock he'd grabbed from the ground with all his might at his former master.

The rock struck true, and hard, striking Watto in his forehead with enough force to send him flipping backward in a spin that crashed him to the ground on top of the slave-catchers who stood behind him.

His own success startled Ani so much, he didn't know what to do next, but then someone was grabbing him from behind, and he didn't think before he reached back to hold on to Obi-Wan. He jumped from the ground to help Obi-Wan pull him onto the platform. 

A few of the other slaves surged forward as they scrambled back, creating a shield while Obi-Wan threw them off the platform on the other side that was nearly empty of people. The buyers had all gone to watch the commotion and now they had space to run.

Obi-Wan's chains fell off when they landed on the sand—Ani didn't know how, or why, or why Watto hadn't triggered Obi-Wan's chip to explode them right now. He just knew Obi-Wan's hand clenched around his, Obi-Wan's shuffling gait, the jostle of bruises on Ani's shoulders and knees that weren't important because they were running for the closest place to hide, and they were free free free.

* * *

The midday heat was near-unbearable even in the shade of this alley that wound through the back streets of Mos Espa. Padmé's sweat evaporated as fast as it appeared, her skin sandblasted by the hot wind that did nothing to relieve the heat. Her wrists were rubbed raw in her binders as the zabrak Dark Force-user yanked on the chain attached to them.

She'd been stupid and careless and was a prisoner again. She was getting really sick of being chained up, and was furious that everything they'd done to escape the night before had been undone. Her fury was good; it kept the fear of what the zabrak had in store for her at bay. In the hands of the Dark Force-user, she didn't know how things could get worse.

Then the shooting started. 

Padmé ducked and tried to keep to her feet at the same time as blaster bolts exploded around her. The zabrak jerked in surprise, throwing her further off-balance and sending her staggering. She kept her head down, trying to find cover but their alley was bare of vendors or storage containers. The plain white walls were more than enough to reflect the blaster bolts into a terrifying gauntlet as the zabrak dragged her along toward the broad gate at the other end of the street.

Padmé heard shouting, but the noise was too much to distinguish any words. A quick look back showed a huddle of mercenaries bearing down on them. Who they were and what they wanted was lost to the fight. 

She had no idea why they were after them, especially since her terrifying morning had been precipitated by being captured by a similar band of mercenaries at the junkshop before being handed over to the zabrak. Now that the bounty on her had been paid, one group of mercenaries turning on another was the last thing she had expected.

As soon as they reached the gate, the zabrak slammed his hand on the entry code and shoved Padmé through. She fell to her knees, startled yet not truly surprised to find herself staring up at her dust-covered ship. The Nubian cruiser's glossy sheen was muted but intact, and the sight made tears spring up in the corners of Padmé's eyes, an unaccountable feeling of relief filling her that she shoved aside. 

She had no time for it.

Her hands were bound in front of her, the chain leash heavy on the ground. At the gate, the zabrak had activated his light staff and was deflecting the mercenaries' blaster bolts back at them. A minute, maybe two had passed, and already the bolts were fewer, the noise dying down from the street. 

Padmé took her chance—if she could get into the ship, she could seal it from the inside. She shook off her shock and grabbed her chain before pushing to her feet and making a break for the ship. Glancing over her shoulder as she ran, she saw the zabrak watching her, red face stern and forbidding in the red glow of his light staff. He didn't seem too concerned, and now that the mercenaries had been dealt with he stalked after her, his pace confident.

"There's nowhere to run, your Majesty," he said.

She put on a burst of speed and slammed into the side of the cruiser at near-full speed, her hands going for the exterior panel. But as soon as she opened it, she knew it was hopeless. Instead of the neat panel she knew the codes to, the casement had been smashed off, now nothing more than jagged edges surrounding a tangle of sliced and re-fused wires. She couldn't possibly hope to untangle it in the seconds she had.

With nothing else, Padmé turned and put her back to the cruiser. The metal was cool and reassuringly solid for all that it was a false comfort.

"Whatever it is you want with me, I won't cooperate," she told the zabrak.

He smiled an ugly smile full of teeth. "I don't require your cooperation for long. It'll be a short ride to the Republic, and then all I need is your body."

A chill went down her back. He was talking about killing her. Her death serving to inflame some political game—he had to have been hired by the Trade Federation. That was the only explanation.

"No!" she shouted, her voice her only defiance. His vile grin only got wider. Enraged, Padmé grabbed up the chain and swung out at him with all her strength. 

He didn't expect it, and it connected, slamming into his left arm and side with a jarring thwap that Padmé felt up the chain. The zabrak took a bracing step to the right, his breath driven from him, but he was strong and quick, and his left hand snatched the end of the chain from the air as it recoiled. 

Despite whatever pain it had just inflicted, he yanked, crashing Padmé to her knees. The smile had dropped from his face and twisted into a snarl. But before he could retaliate, more shouting from the alley preceded another four mercenaries bursting into the hangar, blasters firing.

"What is this!?" the zabrak shouted, frustrated as he turned to meet the bolts with his staff, the red blades spinning quickly in a dance that was as beautiful as it was deadly.

"Thief!" One of the mercenaries shouted.

"Turn over the slave!" shouted another.

Padmé, stunned, heart going a thousand beats a minute, laughed at how ridiculous it was—slave-catchers trying to rescue her. Even more surreal was that she'd take their help to get away from the zabrak and his fate for her. 

The mercenaries couldn't break his defensive barrier, however, and as they dropped, one after the other, she knew that whatever time they'd bought her wouldn't be enough. But then—as another figure turned the corner and flipped over the head of the last mercenary standing—Padmé realized that they weren't buying time for her. 

Qui-Gon Jinn seemed to fly, his green light saber clashing into the zabrak's as he landed. The two held crossed blades for a long moment before breaking away and engaging in earnest.

Master Jinn had made it. 

Padmé let out a long exhale, feeling hope again crash through her system. Hope that redoubled when a familiar beeping accompanied the arrival of R2-D2 through the gates. The little droid avoided the clashing lightsaber fight and headed straight for Padmé and the control panel. She was so relieved to see him she clutched at his dome top with her bound hands.

"You're here!" she said. "Can you unlock the ship?" 

R2-D2 beeped and whirred, an access port extending, which Padmé took for a yes. Somehow the damage to the control panel had missed the droid terminal that was tucked behind a second cover. 

R2-D2 beeped again, his optical eye turning toward the lightsaber fight behind them. 

As Padmé crouched beside him, she felt her attention split, anxious for both R2-D2 to get the ship open and for Master Jinn to win the fight. 

He'd looked awful after the last one, and watching him now, she could see that the zabrak was a ferocious fighter. With his dual-bladed staff he spun from defense to attack faster than her eyes could follow. Master Jinn leapt and jumped, meeting each attack and turning it into his own answer. 

Padmé couldn't tell who was winning at first, not until she heard a cry from Master Jinn and saw him roll out of the way of a blistering barrage of strikes that left him circling to his feet with a smoking hole to his upper arm—the same arm that had been injured in the last fight. The zabrak stalked toward him, and then they were clashing again, Master Jinn doing more dodging than before. 

But as Padmé watched the exchange she thought the zabrak might be favoring his left side as well. Not enough to slow him down, but enough for Master Jinn to keep him engaged. 

However, the Jedi Master was flagging. Padmé urged R2-D2 to work faster. 

Then with a whir, the sound of hydraulics engaging abruptly broke through the buzz of the lightsaber fight. Padmé stumbled out of the way as the ramp lowered, scrambling up it before it had even properly extended. The interior was dim and cool compared to the heat and sand outside. Once the ramp fully extended, R2-D2 followed her up.

"Can you fly the ship?!" she shouted at the droid, running for the cockpit half-blind in the dark ship after the brightness of outside. They had to get in the air. She had to see if anyone was left alive—her mind flittered from the worry about the fight outside to wondering if Eirtaé was still alive. Focus! she admonished herself. 

The cockpit was a broad bench of controls she only had passing familiarity with. Piloting was not considered priority training for a new monarch. But R2-D2 was already jacking in and bringing the ship to life and Padmé knew where the overrides were to give the droid full access. She hit them, hands still awkwardly bound together, trusting the little droid to manage the rest, and then she ran back out toward the ship's entrance.

The unexpected sound of pounding footsteps echoed from the back of the ship, boots running against the ship's durasteel decks. Padmé felt a flare of hope, but she didn't have time to do more than that, they had to _go_. The ramp was still down, and she looked out into the bright hangar where the lightsaber fight continued in a furious dance of red and green. Beneath her feet, the deck hummed like a beast waiting to rise from the sand.

Padmé grabbed onto the handhold by the Nubian's open hatch. "Master Jinn!" she shouted. 

She didn't know if he heard her, but the zabrak did. His head turned in the barest of glances. But it was enough. Master Jinn took advantage of the opening and the zabrak's weak side to shove him across the hangar into the far wall, then he broke into a sprint for the Nubian.

Padmé slapped the intercom beside her. "R2-D2, prepare to take off on my signal!"

Emerging from the aft corridor, the running footsteps resolved into three handmaidens, two in orange, one in black, and Padmé had never felt so happy to see her companions, her friends, battered but alive. A moment later, Master Jinn ran up the ramp and collapsed on his knees, out of breath.

"R2, now!"

"No, wait!" Master Jinn shouted.

"We have to go!"

"Padmé!" 

"He's getting up!"

Padmé barely had time to register the Jedi's protest amidst her handmaidens taking up position around her. Sabé slapped a blaster in her hand. 

"Hold him off for just a minute!" Master Jinn said, maneuvering toward the open ramp as the ship began lifting off. 

Her handmaidens fired without hesitation at the zabrak, who was forced to ignite his staff again to ward them off. Padmé twisted her bound hands to adjust her grip on her blaster and fired, too. Master Jinn laid down at edge of the ramp as the ship rose, a meter up then two. 

He had one hand outstretched as if to reach for something just out of his grasp and with the other he grabbed something blue—a woman wearing blue—leaping from below.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for this journey with me. Heads up that the final chapter will go up tomorrow.

Every step hurt. A lance of pain shot down his leg every time his weight shifted. Obi-Wan felt the blaster wound on his thigh reopen, and blood drip down his leg. 

But he ran anyway. 

His whole existence narrowed to the pain in his leg and Ani's hand in his and that was all he needed to know. Ani standing defiant against Watto. Ani free. Obi-Wan only had to make sure he stayed that way.

He wasn't sure he was parsing time and space properly. From one moment to the next he could hear the blaster bolts on their heels, the screams from the crowd in the market. Watto's voice shouting orders. Then all that made sense was the blood rushing in his ears and his feet slipping on the sandy ground like a sandstorm whirling around them, sweeping them up, and hiding them from their pursuers.

He jumped, yanking Ani with him onto a tin awning, and ran and leapt again to another roof and another until the square was below them. 

He glanced down, panting heavily, and saw chaos in the square. Slaves on the chain had risen up into their masters' way, or bowed at their feet, tangling them up in obstructional subservience. The slaves chained into a line on the auction block couldn't go far from the platform, but the line of them swayed into the crowd like whipping reeds in the wind. The slaves in the pen were banging on their cages, and throughout it all the noise was deafening, terrible and joyous. 

The slave-catchers were still coming. Their blaster bolts forced Obi-Wan to duck, tucking Ani in front of him to protect him and the move threw him off-balance. They were on a round sloping roof of a large building, and his wounded leg gave out. 

The two of them slid sideways down, back toward the square, stopped by the lip of the roof that for the moment sheltered them from the blasters. Ani cried out—in fear or pain, it didn't matter. His own pain sucked all the air from his own lungs when they landed. His vision blacked over, and for a moment his whole existence narrowed to raw, red nerves.

"Obi-Wan!" Ani grabbed at his shirt, tugging on him. "Oba, you have to get up! I can't carry you! Get up! Get up!"

"Ani." Obi-Wan's voice cracked. He meant to say more. _Go_ , or _run_ , or _leave me I'll stall_. But when his vision stabilized, Ani's face was inches away. His face was streaked with sweat and tears through the dust, and his eyes were bluer than the sky. His fingers clenched in Obi-Wan's shirt, points of heat that were small but strong.

"Oba. Get up! You can do it! We're free but we gotta run! I can't carry you but I can get us safe! Somewhere. But you have to get up! Up! You hear me? Up!" 

Obi-Wan almost smiled. He knew that tone from his own side of a dozen arguments, recognized that expression that looked so much like his mother's. In the face of Ani's determination he couldn't disobey. 

He pushed himself to his feet, leaning on Ani's shoulder, their arms wrapping around each other. Obi-Wan found strength waiting for him draw on. His leg hurt, but through it were arms and hands stronger than their size to keep him upright, steady with Ani's bright light on his senses, like a light leading him through the pain. He grasped it, grateful, humbled, and gripped Ani's hand tight as they started to move once more.

They made it to the edge of the roof, and Obi-Wan didn't think before he flung himself onto the next one. They ran—stumbling, shuffling, far too slow, but they ran anyway. He didn't know where they were going. He let Ani guide them, sticking to the rooftops.

Every now and then Ani peered over the edge or glanced to the south. He didn't seem to be tracking their pursuers, or looking to avoid the net the slave-catchers were no doubt drawing tighter around them. Obi-Wan could see the pattern of the bolts shift, coming from their flank now, too. More mercenaries had joined the chase. Ani was looking for something. Obi-Wan had no breath to ask. 

But if Ani was here . . . If Ani was here then . . .

"There! Come on!" Ani shouted, nearly yanking Obi-Wan off his feet again in his excitement. At first he couldn't see what Ani was pointing at, his vision swimming in and out of focus in the bright sunlight. But suddenly, like a mirage resolving, he saw it. A ship. A ship he didn't recognize but that felt right.

They scrabbled to the next roof, dodging another spate of blaster fire on the right. Then the ship was above them, the landing ramp lowered but too far away for Obi-Wan to reach. Two women on either side of the opening returned fire on the slave-catchers below, and then someone in light colors leapt toward them. 

Before Obi-Wan quite caught up, the Jedi was tossing Ani into the air where another woman—Padmé—caught him on the ramp. Then the Jedi slung Obi-Wan's arm over his shoulder, held him close, and launched them into the air in an impossible leap that felt like flying on lucky wings.

Their landing was not soft. Obi-Wan cried out as his wounded leg erupted in a new wave of pain that left him gasping. Through the haze, he heard Ani's voice and Padmé's, others, and then the Jedi's saying, "Obi-Wan? Obi-Wan?" 

Someone dragged Obi-Wan up and into their arms, jostling his leg again but at least his weight was off it. He clenched his eyes closed and locked his jaw against the screaming hot pain. A fresh wave hit a few moments later when he landed on another hard surface.

Obi-Wan forced his eyes open, breathing through his teeth. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the poor light and saw they'd dumped him on a medical bed. 

The Jedi smiled at him. "We'll get you patched up in a moment, but first I need to find your tracker." He maneuvered a medical scanner over Obi-Wan. 

Obi-Wan stared at it. He managed to nod, his mind not understanding, but then there was warmth on his arm from Ani at his side hugging it, warmth from the scanner as its beam ran from his feet to his hips, over his stomach and his chest. The device was silent, silent, silent, and he couldn't look away from it. He felt his heart pulse in his wounded leg. Felt it when Qui-Gon gripped his wrist and helped him sit up and forward.

Then, the warm beam passed over the muscle of his mid-back, and the scanner beeped.

Thirteen years. Obi-Wan let his eyes close.

"He found it!" Ani cried, his nine-year-old's joy loud in his ear.

Obi-Wan's lashes were wet when he opened his eyes. The Jedi was looking right at him, a half smile lifting the corner of his sand-streaked face. Obi-Wan hadn't thought he'd see him again. He'd struck him out back at the arena and thought that would be the last of it, taking his place so he could give the Jedi a chance to save Padmé. So he wouldn't have to face him in a fight. 

So he could maybe tell his council and come back for them.

Qui-Gon had a laser cutter in his hand now, and Obi-Wan nodded. "Take it out." 

Tunic off, it hurt when the laser bit through skin and muscle, but it was insignificant compared to his leg. Insignificant when the Jedi dug out the tracker, unclipped the tiny trigger wire, and smashed it under his heel on the floor of the Nubian cruiser taking them away.

"You're free! You're free!" Ani scrambled onto the bed and hugged him, clumsy and careless of his hurts, but Obi-Wan didn't care. He twisted so he could pull him into his lap on his good leg and hug him back. 

He stared at the smashed tracker Qui-Gon held out to him, waiting to feel something, waiting to believe it was gone. Thirteen years. But it was nothing but shattered circuits and flattened explosive. Around him his sense of Ani and the Jedi and the women around them pulsed with his heartbeat, like new life running through him. Maybe that's what he was waiting for. Holding and being held. 

"Think you can move with some help?" Qui-Gon said at last.

"I'm pretty sure I can do anything now," Obi-Wan replied, breathless, crying. Free. 

Qui-Gon grinned, bright and sharp. "Let's start with making you whole."

The Jedi shooed Ani from the bed. Padmé and two other women who looked just like her were nearby. One of them handed a jar and bandages to Qui-Gon. 

Seeing Padmé, everything else came back to Obi-Wan.

"Shmi?" he asked, and Padmé's smile turned blinding. She nodded.

Relief, joy, gratitude took the rest of Obi-Wan's energy, making him sag against the Jedi who was supporting his back while he slathered a soothing ointment over his wounds.

This, Obi-Wan thought, dizzy with a hundred small emotions and possibly blood loss. This is what freedom felt like. 

Beside him, Ani's voice was small and hopeful, barely there when he said, "What?" His hand holding Obi-Wan's squeezed impossibly tight.

"Your mom," Padmé told him. "We got her out too. She's installing the hyperdrive."

Obi-Wan's senses were overwhelmed with Ani's joy. "Go," he said, tugging Ani's hand forward to get him moving. Ani needed no other prodding, and a moment later he was sprinting out the door.

* * *

The ship careened as he ran. Over the intercom, someone was shouting about pursuit from mercenaries in orbit. Artoo beeped, and someone—a voice he knew in his dreams—said, "Hyperdrive is online!"

Ani ran down the corridor to the engine room, to where the voice was, as the ship made the jump. He jumped too, displaced by the feeling of his insides colliding for a split second before he was running again, turning the corner, and the woman whose voice it was turned from the panels on the wall—

"Mom!" Ani ran to her. "Mommommommom!"

"Ani?" she said, breathless, surprised, but he knew that voice. 

He slammed into her, his head landing on her chest where, before, it would have hit just above her hip. She staggered back, arms coming around him tightly, lips brushing his hair. 

Ani inhaled the dust and worked metal scent of her that felt _right_ and _home_. She held him tight, saying his name over and over, crying, but he was crying too and he didn't even care because this was his mom, and she was here, and he knew her, and she was holding him.

She was free too, had to be because they were in hyperspace, leaving Tatooine behind. She was free and holding him, and that was all Ani had ever wanted. 

He knew then, as sure as two suns rose one after the other on a violent, desert planet, that their tears were rain, and everything was going to be all right.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are at the end! Thank you all so much for all your comments and kudos. I'll catch up on comments over the next week or so. I can't begin to describe how much your enthusiasm and enjoyment of the story has meant to me.
> 
> A few folks have asked about a sequel. So I haven't written a sequel yet, but I do have ideas for one in my head, and I have half a mind to write it, but I make no promises on if or when that actually happens.
> 
> I have written some short stories for Obi-Wan's backstory, which I will be posting in the next few weeks. They're not polished so I need to clean them up, and in a few cases, finish them. I'll be making this universe into a series so they'll be linked to In Want of a Hyperdrive, and all stories in this universe will show up together.

The Queen's quarters on the cruiser were elegant yet modest. Padmé had never appreciated the luxury quite as much as she did now.

Rich brocades in deep red softened the harshness of the metal walls. The floor bore a thick carpet that insulted bare feet from the ship's cold metal. There was a wardrobe and a vanity to either side of the ensuite refresher, a sitting area on the opposite side of the room and a large bed piled high with pillows in the center.

Right now, the bed was crowded with Padmé and her three handmaidens all tucked together under the blankets. They wore no makeup and wore identical robes that denoted no status between them. Padmé lay in the middle, leaning against Sabé with Rabé curled against her right side and Eirtaé holding her hand to her left. 

Between them, Padmé at last felt safe, like she could let down her guard for the first time in weeks. 

She knew it was temporary. In little more than a day they'd be at Coruscant and she'd once more face threats of assassination the moment she stepped off the ship. The thought wasn't as terrifying as it had been, not after the helplessness of being locked up, kidnapped, and sold. Not after running from a city of slavers whose one thought was to put chains on her wrists. 

She told her handmaidens, her protectors, her friends everything, from the moment she left the ship to the moment she scrambled back onto it.

"We heard the fighting outside," said Sabé, when Padmé recounted her and Ani's attempt to rescue them from the zabrak.

"I saw them catch you," Eirtaé said, squeezing Padmé's hand so tight her bones creaked. "I'm so sorry we failed you."

"No, no!" Padmé sat up to hug her close. "It's not your fault. It was the zabrak and whoever is working behind him. You stayed alive. I'm so grateful you stayed alive."

She was crying, but they all were. Sabé and Rabé hugged her from behind, their hands wrapping around Eirtaé too and they held each other and told their stories. Her handmaidens been taken by surprise when the zabrak came, his use of the Force devastating and fast. He'd killed the crew, locked up Rabé and Eirtaé and then interrogated Sabé by diving into her mind. 

Her voice choked with sobs halfway through the recounting, and then it was her turn to be the center of the hug.

"We'll make them pay," Padmé promised, kissing the tears from Sabé's face. "We'll find out who they were and bring down the Senate on their heads."

"We'll make the slavers pay too," said Rabé, later, when Padmé continued her story and told them of meeting the zabrak in Mos Eisley, of running and running and running.

"Yes." Padmé felt cleansed by the telling, the scared empty spaces filled by the love of her people gathered to her. "We're going to make the galaxy better. We're going to help slaves escape and bring down every slaving ship that crosses our path."

"Yes," Sabé and Eirtaé echoed. A solemn promise from the sisters of her heart that meant everything to Padmé. It would take work. Treaties and alliances and reforming Naboo's immigration and refugee protocols. But every political gain would mean one more life saved. 

First, however, to help Tatooine's slaves they had to help Naboo and free themselves from the Trade Federation. Rid the galaxy of profiteers at every level. Soon Padmé and her handmaidens would need to leave the safety of the Queen's quarters and make contact with Theed, with Senator Palpatine on Coruscant, and resume their mission. 

One night's sleep, Padmé thought. One night to rest and then she'd don her regalia and resume the fight.

* * *

The ship was quiet once they made the jump to hyperspace. 

Qui-Gon had kept his sense of the Living Force open during those dangerous minutes between R2-D2 getting them clear of Mos Eisley and into orbit, and when they cleared the gravity well with every mercenary ship nearby turning to chase after them. Eirtaé had been at the helm, able to keep them off their tail long enough to evade most of their fire, while Qui-Gon tried to discern any sign of the Dark-user among their pursuers. Fortunately, it seemed the zabrak hadn't found a ship to follow them in. Then they were in the safety of hyperspace.

Now, their course was set for Coruscant and they could rest for the thirty hours or so it would take to reach the Core. Qui-Gon took the time to wash, meditate, and sleep—and then meditate again after he woke a fitful few hours later. 

Much had happened during their detour to Tatooine. The presence of the Dark-user and his murder of the Naboo crew was especially troubling. The handmaidens had shrouded them in the cargo hold. He still needed to compose a message to the Jedi Council to send when they switched hyperlanes. Something innocuous. Something that didn't hint at more than engine trouble or the more than a dozen slaves they'd be rendezvousing with who would need asylum.

Letting out a long exhale, Qui-Gon released his worries to the Force, letting them go one by one like plucking thorns from his tunic. 

Where there was death there was life to balance it. The Force aboard the cruiser was brimming with it. 

The vibrant presences of Ani and Obi-Wan reflected their joy at being reunited with Anakin's mother. Of all the mechanics in Mos Eisley. He smiled, sinking into his own feelings of satisfaction and joy, letting them buoy him up, flow from him, leaving only the Force. The Living Force had been with them as surely as it had guided him to Tatooine to Ani and Obi-Wan in the first place. 

Slaves led to freedom. Lives with a new future ahead of them.

Later, perhaps in the early morning by Tatooine's time, Qui-Gon pressed on the door-chime to the room the three of them had taken. Obi-Wan answered, a hand raised to forestall Qui-Gon from speaking. As ship quarters went, the room was larger than his, with a desk, two chairs, and two beds. Only one bed was occupied, however. Shmi sat propped up against the head with Ani sprawled face-down across her lap. Her eyes were open, awoken from sleep.

"We'll be arriving at the rendezvous in an hour." Qui-Gon kept his voice low. He raised the stack of bowls he held in his hand. "I thought you could do with breakfast." Obi-Wan waved him in.

Proper medical care from the ship's med-droid and ten hours of rest had done Obi-Wan good. His blaster burns had been treated and bandaged, although he still limped, and painkillers and sleep had brought color back to his face. 

But more than that, for the first time since Qui-Gon had met him, Obi-Wan's presence in the Force was open and calm. His shields were loosely held and the ever-present undercurrent of fear had washed away.

As Obi-Wan sat back on the edge of the bed, it was no mystery that being reunited with his family was responsible for the change. It was good to see.

Qui-Gon set the pot of Naboo space rations on the desk and served it into the smaller bowls, saving Ani's for later when he woke up.

"How's he doing?" Qui-Gon nodded to Ani, who also had a freshly bandaged back.

"Much better," Obi-Wan said, a faint smile crossing his face when he glanced at Ani and Shmi. They'd all benefit from a visit to the Halls of Healing once they reached the Temple, but access to proper equipment, supplies and the med-droid had gone a long way.

"Thank you for all that you did for them," Shmi said. Her voice was soft and steady, and her gaze forthright. "Thank you for finding them and bringing us with you."

Qui-Gon smiled. "I was glad I was able to," he said, glancing at Obi-Wan, the memory of their argument still present between them. Obi-Wan knew it too, but he returned the smile with a nod, his lips quirking up. He radiated the same calm and acceptance as before.

"You kept your promise after all," he said.

Qui-Gon felt the last strand of tension that he hadn't even realized he still carried ease and let it go into the Force. 

"Of course," he said to lighten the mood, "Ani was supposed to stay safely on the ship with Aishass and the others."

Obi-Wan and Shmi both looked at the sleeping boy, fond and full of love, though it didn't stop Obi-Wan from rolling his eyes a little. Shmi brushed her fingers through his hair.

"He's never been one for staying where he's put," she said wryly.

"Or listening," Obi-Wan added.

"He's a very special boy," Qui-Gon said. Obi-Wan looked over at him, catching the undercurrent as Qui-Gon added, "He's strong in the Force."

Shmi glanced over too, looking between them, when Obi-Wan remained silent. His calm ruffled in his Force-presence as he gathered his shields, but he didn't cut himself off. Qui-Gon was grateful for the small show of trust.

"I've never met anyone with his strong presence before," he said quietly.

"What does that mean?" Shmi asked, her smile turning to worry.

"It means that when we arrive at the Jedi Temple at Coruscant, I'd like to have him tested."

"The Jedi don't take older children." Obi-Wan's frown was sharp, and there was the withdrawal he'd expected.

Raising a hand in a gesture of patience, Qui-Gon said soothingly, "The decision is yours of course, as it is for all parents. But sometimes exceptions are made, and if the Council allows it and you choose to let him stay, I would take him on as my padawan learner. He has a remarkable gift and he would benefit from training."

"I just got him back!" Shmi snapped, her words no louder than before, but twice as hard. She curled a protective hand over Ani's head.

Qui-Gon leaned back, keeping his hands up and open. "I know. I won't take him from you. I just want you both to be aware of your options. Whatever you decide, the Jedi will help you begin a new life in the Republic. I'll see to it myself, as will I think the Queen."

The sharp edges receded from both Shmi and Obi-Wan, who shared a meaningful look. A conversation passed between them, and in it, Qui-Gon sensed the strength of their bond, despite the long years of separation.

"Mom?" Ani's sleepy head turned into his mother's lap, rolling to the side.

"I'm here, dear one." She bent and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Obi-Wan's calm returned when Ani sought him out next and relaxed when he ascertained that they were really there. 

"Are we there yet?"

"Not yet, Ani. Go back to sleep," Obi-Wan said.

"Mmm." Ani wiggled around to get comfortable again, mumbling, "Don't let me sleep through arriving. I want to see the Temple. I dreamed I became a Jedi."

"Go to sleep," Obi-Wan repeated, soothing a hand through his hair.

Qui-Gon didn't need the Force to know he was thinking carefully. He stood. "I'll leave you to discuss it." He'd made his offer. It was in their hands now, and with the guidance of the Force, they were free people to make their own choices.

~*~

END


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